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SOUTHERN PLANTER 



SUSAN DABNEY SMEDES. 



The memory of 80 honest and noble a life deserves a suitable record." 

— Wm. M. Grekn, Bishop of Mississippi. 

A priceless heritage for his posterity ; the record of a life crowned with 
honorable deeds." 

—Extract from a letter of Hon. E. Barksdale, of Mississippi. 



SEVENTH EDITION. 



NEW'YO'UK: ". •;' :;'>/'* 

JAMES POTT & CO., PL^BLisriEii^'^^ 

Fourth Avenue and Twknty-second Street. 

1899. 






Copyright, 18S7, by SrsAX Dabxey Smedei. 



PEEFAOE. 



The materials for these memorials were collected a 
few weeks after the death of my father. There was no 
thought then of having them made public. They were 
gotten together that the memory and example of his 
life should not pass away from his grandchildren, many 
of whom are yet too young to appreciate his character. 
They will come to mature years in a time when slavery 
will be a thing of the past. 

They will hear much of the wickedness of slavery 
and of slave-owners. I wish them to learn of a good 
master: of one who cared for his servants affection- 
ately and yet with a firm hand, when there was need, 
and with a full sense of his responsibility. There were 
many like him. Self-interest — one might, with truth, 
say self-protection — was with most masters a sufficient 
incentive to kindness to slaves, when there was no 
higher motive. My father was so well assured of the 
contentment and well-being of his slaves, while he 
owned them, and saw so much of their suffering, which 
he was not able to relieve after they were freed, that 
he did not, for many years, believe that it was better 
for them to be free than held as slaves. But during 
the last winter of his life he expressed the opinion that 
it was well for them to have their freedom. 

It has been suggested by friends, in whose judgment 
I trust, that these memorials may throw a kindly light 
on Southern masters for others, as well as for my 

8 



i PREFACE. 

father's descendants. Should this be so, I shall not 
regret laying bare much that is private and sacred. 

He was like his Jaqueline ancestors in appearance. 
The " grand look" of the first Jaquelines and what we 
knew as the " Jaqueline black eyes" were his. Several 
times in his life he was asked as a favor by painters to 
sit for his portrait ; on two occasions by distinguished 
artists whom he met casually. " I want a patrician 
head for an historical picture that I am painting," one 
said. 

He never suspected any one of wishing to be other- 
wise than strictly upright, and, consequently, was 
frequently defrauded in his dealings with dishonest 
people. Once, during the latter years of his life, when 
in extremest poverty, he made a rather worse bargain 
than usual. 

" I do not think that you ever made a good bargain 
in your life," some one said. 

" No, I never tried," was the emphatic answer. " A 
good bargain always means that somebody makes a 
bad one." 

" Uncle Tom," one of his brother's children said to 
him, "why do you deny yourself everything? Your 
credit is good. You could get thousands of dollars if 
you chose." 

" Yes, my dear, my credit is good ; and I mean to 
keep it so," he replied, in a manner that precluded 
further argument on that subject. 

S. D. S. 

Baltimore, 1303 John Street, June 1, 1886. 



OOHTENTS. 



OHAPrEB rxat 

I. — Birth and Early Tears 17 

II. — Marriage and Life at Elminqton .... 31 

III. — Leaving the Old Home 47 

IV. — Mammy Harriet's Eecollections 52 

V. — Early Days in Mississippi 65 

yi. — Plantation Management . 76 

yil. — Still Waters and Green Pastures .... 87 

VIII. — Management of Servants 101 

IX. — A Southern Planter's Wife 108 

X. — A Southern Planter 115 

XI.— Home Life 130" 

XII. — Holiday Times on the Plantation .... 160 

XIII. — The Valley of the Shadow 166 

XIV.— Summer Travel 171 

XV. — Summer-Time — Falling Asleep 179 

XVI.— Slaves and War-Times 190 

XVII. — A Week within the Lines 202 

XVIII.— Kefugees 214 

XIX.— Old Master 223 

XX. — The Crown of Poverty 231 

XXI. — The Crowning Blessing 244 

XXII. — Life at Burleigh 259 

XXIIL— Quiet Days 292 

XXIV.— Eest 322 



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[Copy of a letter receued from the Hon. W. E. Gladstone.] 

Hawarden Castle, Chester, Oct. 12, 1889. 
Dear Madam :— When you did rae the honour to send me the 
Memorials of a Southern Planter, I in acknowledging your cour- 
tesy said (I think) that I should peruse it with lively interest. I 
have finished it this morning and my interest in the work is not 
only lively but profound. 

What I expected that the world might reap from it may be 
roughly described as Justice to the South : to which as matter of 
course something less than Justice has latterly been done in the 
common estimation. 

My expectation was thoroughly fulfilled. But what I also 
found was the exhibition of one of the very noblest of human 
characters : affording to every one (not least may I say to one 
who is himself a happy father in old age) food for admiration, 
for love, and for ever so distant and ever so humble imitation. 

I am constrained to go on and add that the family picture is one 
of rare beauty, and that the Memoir is such as he would have 
wished it to be : I cannot give it higher praise. 

Yet more. I am very desirous that the old world should have 
the benefit of this work. I write to my bookseller in London to 
order me some copies which I may give to friends. I shall ask Mr. 
Knowles the Editor of the Nineteenth Century (our most widely 
known periodical of the highest class) to allow me to draw atten- 
sion to it there by a brief notice. But I now ask your permis- 
tion, I hope your immediate permission (if you like to send it by 
telegram "Gladstone Hawarden England Proceed" will suffice) to 
publish it in England. Pray do this through any channel which 
may be agreeable to you. Should you desire to do it through 
me, I shall on receiving your answ^er communicate with one or 
the other of my own publishers in London (Mr. Murray and Mr. 
Macmillan) and you will probably hear from one of them as to 
the terms on which he would propose to proceed. Either of them 
may be entirely trusted. 

In any case allow me to thank you, dear Madam, for the good 
this book must do : and may the blessing of the Almighty rest 
richly on the heads of all the descendants of one noble even 
among Nature's nobles. 

I remain, dear Madam, 

Faithfully yours, 
Mrs. Smedes. W. E. GLADSTONE. 



tNTEODUOTIOK 



GENEALOGICAL. 



In the fair land of France the old Huguenot name 
and family of d'Aubigne still live. They form but a 
small colony in their native land, never having increased 
much. From the earliest times they seem to have had 
a strong religious vein.* All the branches of this 
family in America claim a common ancestry. They 
have the same armorial bearings, — an elephant's head, 
three footless martins, and the fleurs-de-lis of France, 
— the same traditions, and the same motto, which they 
hold in three languages. In France they have the 
motto in the Latin, Fidelis et Grata. One of the Amer- 
ican branches has it in French, Fidele et Reconnaissant ; 
while most of the name in the United States have it in 
English, Faithful and Grateful. 

The name has undergone many changes since the 
American branch left France, two centuries ago. It 
/ is variously written, as Daubeny, Daubney, Bigny, 

! D'aubenay, Dabnee, and Dabney. 

The traditions among all say that they are descended 
from that fearless Huguenot leader, Agrippa d'Aubigne, 
who flourished from 1550 to 1630. 

But Agrippa was not the first of his name known at 
the French court. According to tradition in the family, 
a d'Aubigne commanded a company of Swiss guards 
at the court of Louis XII. 

Agrippa d'Aubigne wrote a minute history of the 

* The following is an extract from " Don Miff," a romance written by 
my brother, V. Dabney : " This Huguenot cross gave the old Whacker 
stock a twist towards theology. Two of the sons of Thomas and Eliza- 
beth took orders, much to the surprise of their father." 

7 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

fearful times in which he lived, — one of the best that has 
come down to us. Agrippa was the father of Constant 
d'Aubigne, who was the father of Mme. de Main tenon, 
and her brother, Chevalier d'Aubigne. Constant d'Au- 
bigne was twice married. The first wife, Ann Marchant, 
left a son Theodore. The second wife, Jeanne Cardil- 
lac, was the mother of Mme. de Maintenon and Chev- 
alier d'Aubigne ; the latter was never married. The 
d'Aubigne line was continued through Ann Marchant's 
son, Theodore. 

We find the name on the rolls of Battle Abbey among 
the list of knights who fell at Hastings. Others sur- 
vived the conquest, and are mentioned in Hume's His- 
tory as champions of Magna Ciaarta. 

After the revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685), 
a branch of the d'Aubigne famiJ}^ left forever the land 
of their ancestors, because they could no longer there 
worship God with freedom of conscience. They took 
refuge in Wales. Somewhere between 1715 to 1717 
two brothers, Cornelius and John d'Aubigne, left this 
land of their adoption, and sailed for America. Per- 
haps about the same time their brother Robert came 
over, and fixed his home in Boston. Cornelius and John 
came to Virginia and settled on the two banks of the 
Pamunkey Eiver, — Cornelius on the northern and John 
on the southern side. 

In the hand-book in the land office of Richmond, 
Virginia, is recorded: " Cornelius de Bany, or de Bones 
or de Bony — a grant of land (200 acres) in New Kent, 
dated 27th September, 1664. Again, another grant to 
same of 640 acres, dated June 7th, 1666. Again, this 
last grant was on Tolomoy Creek, York River. Again, 
Sarah Dabney, a grant of land (179 acres) on Pamunkey 
River, in King and Queen Co., April 25th, 1701." Then 
follow other grants to other Dabneys in these early 
days of our country. 

From Robert d'Aubigne, of Boston, sprang the men 
who for three generations, and almost from the begin- 
ning of our republic, have held the United States con- 
sulate in the Azores, or Western Islands. During this 
period the government has seen many changes, but only 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

one attempt has been made during eighty years to take 
the consulship out of the hands of the descendants of 
Eobert d'A.ubigne. They have borne themselves so 
well in their office as to win the confidence of Whig 
and Democrat and Republican. Under General Grant's 
administration it was thought advisable, for political 
reasons, to bestow this consulship on Mr. Cover. Ac- 
cordingly, in 1869, it was taken from Charles William 
Dabney and given to Mr. Cover. Charles William 
Dabney, who had succeeded his father in the consulate, 
who had held it since 1806, received the new consul 
in his own house, as he could not be suitably accom- 
modated elsewhere. But Mr. Cover lived only two 
years, and on his death the consulate passed again into 
the hands of the Dabney family. Charles W. Dabney 
had held it for forty-three years. He did not desire 
it again, feeling too old to serve. His son, Samuel W. 
Dabney, was appointed consul in 1872, and still holds 
the office. Honorable mention was made by Presi- 
dent Cleveland, in reappointing him to the consulate, 
3f the services of Samuel W. Dabney. A younger 
brother of Charles W. Dabney, William H. Dabney, 
held for twenty years the consulship of the Canary 
Islands, having resigned in 1882. 

In the court record at Hanover Court-House, un- 
fortunately destroyed in the Richmond conflagration 
of 1865, occurred this entry in the first minute-book 
of that count}', at the beginning of the entries, which 
were begun when the county was cut off from Kew 
Kent County, in 1726 : 

" Ordered, that it be recorded that on — day of 
April, 1721, Cornelius Dabney, late of England,* inter- 
married with Sarah Jennings." All accounts agree 
that his first wife died soon after coming to Virginia, 
leaving an only son, George. From this English George 
came the William Dabney who gave two sons to the 
Revolutionary army, — Charles, who commanded the 
Dabney Legion, and George, who was a captain in that 
legion. The brothers were present at the siege of 

* He seems to have gone to England before coming to America. 



10 INTRODUCTION. 

Yorktown and the surrender of Lord Cornwallis. They 
received the thanks of Congress for services rendered. 
G-eorge Dabney's powder-horn, that he carried into 
battle, is still in existence, and in the possession of one 
of his descendants. Patrick Henry, who was a kins- 
man and companion of these brothers, was on very 
intimate terms with them. 

From the marriage of Cornelius Dabney and Sarah 
Jennings sprang three sons and four daughters. The 
descendants of their half-brother George and of this 
band of brothers and sisters have their homes in Louisa 
and Hanover Counties. Of late years they have spread 
over nearly every State in the South and Southwest, 
and some have found their way to the Middle States. 

The distinguished Presbyt-erian minister, Kev. Eobert 
L. Dabney, well known as the author of the " Life of 
Stonewall Jackson," and now professor in the State 
University of Texas, is descended from Cornelius Dab- 
ney's son George. 

John Dabney established himself on the lower Pa- 
munkey Eiver, at what has been known ever since as 
Dabney's Ferry, and this became the original nest of 
the Dabney s of King William and Gloucester Coun- 
ties. 

" Most of the families of Lower Yirginia are de- 
scended from John d'Aubigne ; also the Carrs, Walters, 
Taylors, Pendletons, Nelsons, Eobinsons, and Carters 
and Fontaines, Beverleys and Maurys, the Lees, of 
Loudoun, the Seldens and Alexanders, of Alexandria. 
There is hardly a Huguenot or Cavalier family in Vir- 
ginia that has not in its veins an infusion of the blood 
of that sturdy confessor, Agrippa d'Aubigne. From 
the original pair of French Huguenots, married in 1685, 
no less than six thousand descendants have their names 
inscribed on a gigantic family-tree. Several thousand 
more could be added, if the twigs and boughs were 
filled out with the names of the lineal descendants 
known to exist." 

John d'Aubigne was married twice. George was 
the offspring of his first marriage. James, his son by 
his second wife, was famous for his great strength. 



INTRODUCTION. \\ 

George was twice married, and died, leaving two sons, 
George and Benjamin, by his first wife, and two, James 
and Thomas, by his second wife. His second son, Ben- 
jamin, refused to receive his share of his father's prop- 
erty, leaving it to be used in educating his younger 
half-brothers. His brother George lived at the old 
homestead, Dabney's Ferry, and became the father of 
sixteen children, eleven of whom lived to be grown. 
Of these, four were sons and seven daughters. These 
sisters were noted for their beauty. One of them, 
Mary Eleanor, attracted the admiration of General 
Lafayette. 

A daughter of this lady, now sixty-seven years of 
age, writes thus : 

" General Lafayette, you know, visited this country 
in 1825. He was the guest of the city in Eichmond. 
No private house could do for his entertainment, but a 
suite of roolns in the great Eagle Hotel was secured 
for him. I have seen the rooms many a time, as my 
mother boarded there with my brother and myself. 
Cousin H. R. was the most gifted person with her pen, 
and she would, with indelible ink, make lovely leaves, 
flowers, doves, or scrolls, with the name in them. Well, 
Lafiiyette's pillow-cases were of the finest linen, marked 
by her with her own hair, which was a lovely auburn, 
very long and smooth and even, and a motto was also 
on them with the name. I saw them often. I believe 
he was in Richmond some time. All his pillow-cases 
were marked in that way. My dear mother had then 
been a widow four years, and was only twenty-four 
years old, and in the very height of her beauty. Every- 
body who could get to Richmond was there to see the 
great welcome of the city to Lafayette. Many people 
were not even able to find shelter. Of course, my 
mother and young aunts were among those who went 
there. There was a hall, spoken of to this day as the 
Lafayette Hall. My mother danced with him and be- 
came well acquainted. People used to come over with 
such tales to grandpa's, and he made me cry many a 
time, teasing me by saying that mother was going to 
marry Lafayette and go to France to eat frogs. You 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

know Lafayette was a married man, well advanced in 
years ; but, of course, I did not know that. He really 
told several persons, Mrs. H. among them, that my 
mother was the most beautiful woman he had ever 
seen, either in France or America. When he left EicL^ 
mond many ladies kissed him, and he requested a kiss 
from my mother." 

Benjamin Dabney married first Miss Patsy Arm- 
stead. She lived only a few years, leaving three chil- 
dren, George, Benjamin, and Ann. A year or two 
later he married his second wife. Miss Sarah Smith, 
the daughter of the Eev. Thomas Smith. My father 
was one of the children of this marriage. The sons, 
George and Benjamin, grew up to be of so great physi- 
cal strength as to become famous at their college of 
William and Mary. In physical development they 
resembled their grandfather's half-brother, James Dab- 
ney, who bears the surname of " the Powerful" on the 
family-tree. George went into the navy, and was en- 
gaged in the battle of Tripoli, and was so fortunate as 
to save Decatur's life in that fight. He grew tired of 
the navy and left it for a planter's life. Benjamin also 
became a planter, and married his cousin, Ann West 
Dabney, the daughter of his uncle George. 

The Smiths from whom my father was descended on 
the maternal side were known in Virginia as the 
Shooter's Hill Smiths, — Shooter's Hill, in Middlesex 
County, Yirginia, being the home which they founded 
in this country. His mother was Sarah Smith, the 
daughter of the Eev. Thomas Smith, of Westmoreland 
County, a clergyman of the Established Church, and 
Mary Smith of Shooter's Hill. The earliest record in 
the old Shooter's Hill Bible is of the marriage of John 
Smith of Perton and Mary Warner of Warner Hall, 
Gloucester Count}^ in the year 1680. One of Mary 
Warner's sisters, Mildred, married the son of George 
Washington's uncle, Lawrence Washington. A de- 
scendant of John Smith of Perton, General John Bull 
Davidson Smith of Hackwood, was a thorough Dem- 
ocrat, sharing with other Americans of that day in a 
revulsion and animosity against everything English. 



INTRODUCTION. 13 

Seeing that some of his family took more interest in 
genealogy and fVimily records than he thought becom- 
ing in a citizen of the young republic, he made a bon- 
fire of all the papers relating to his ancestors and 
family histor3^ It is necessarily, therefore, rather a 
tradition than a fact recorded in family history, that 
John Smith of Perton was the son of Thomas Smith, 
the brother of the Captain John Smith so famous in 
colonial history. The Smiths of this line adopted Cap- 
tain John Smith's coat of arms, the three Turks' heads 
and now hold it. ' 

The grandson of John Smith of Perton, John Smith 
of Shooter's Hill, married in 1737 Mary Jaqueline, one 
of the three beautiful daughters of the French emigrant, 
Edward Jaqueline. The ceremony was performed at 
Jamestown by the Eev. William Dawson. They were 
the parents of Mary Smith of Shooter's Hill, who was 
married in 1765 to the Eev. Thomas Smith. In Bishop 
Meade's book on the old churches and families of Vir- 
ginia are some interesting accounts of Mary Smith's 
Jaqueline ancestors and Ambler relations. The follow- 
ing extracts are from his pages : 

" The old church at Jamestown is no longer to be seen, 
except the base of its ruined tower. A few tombstones' 
with the names of Amblers and Jaquelines, the chief 
owners of the island for a long time, and the Lees of 
Green Spring (the residence and property, at one time, 
of Sir William Berkeley), a few miles from Jamestown, 
still mark the spot where so many were interred during 
the earlier years of the colony. Some of the sacred 
vessels are yet to be seen, either in private hands or in 
public temples of religion. . . . The third and last of 
the pieces of church furniture— which is now in use in 
one of our congregations— is a silver vase, a font for 
baptism, which was presented to the Jamestown church 
in 1733 by Martha Jaqueline, widow of Edward Jaque- 
line, and their son Edward. In the year 1785, when 
the act of Assembly ordered the sale of church property, 
it reserved that which was passed by right of private 
donation. Under this clause it was given into the 
hands of the late Mr. John Ambler, his grandson. . . 

2 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

"Edward Jaqueline, of Jamestown, was the son of 
John Jaqueline and Elizabeth Craddock, of the county 
of Kent, in England. He was descended from the same 
stock which gave rise to the noble family of La Roche 
Jaquelines in France. They were Protestants, and fled 
from La Yendee, in France, to England during the 
reign of that bloodthirsty tyrant Charles IX., of France, 
and a short time previous to the massacre of St. Bar- 
tholomew. They were eminently wealthy, and were 
fortunate enough to convert a large portion of their 
wealth into gold and silver, which they transported in 
safety to England." 

" Whilst I was in Paris (says one of the travellers 
from America), in 1826, the Duke of Sylverack, who 
was the intimate friend of Mme. de La Roche Jaqueline 
(the celebrated authoress of ' Wars of La Yendee'), 
informed me that the above account — which is the tra- 
dition among the descendants of the family in America 
— corresponds exactly with what the flimily in France 
believe to have been the fate of those Jaquelines who 
fled to England in the reign of Charles IX. I found 
the family to be still numerous in France. It has pro- 
duced many distinguished individuals, but none more 
so than the celebrated Yendean chief, Henri de La Roche 
Jaqueline, who, during the revolution of 1790, was 
called to command the troops of La Yendee after his 
father had been killed, and when he was only nineteen 
years of age. Thinking that he was inadequate to the 
task, on account of his extreme youth and total want 
of experience in military aifairs, he sought seriously to 
decline the dangerous honor ; but the troops, who had 
been devotedly attached to the father and family, would 
not allow him to do so, and absolutely forced him to 
place himself at their head in spite of himself. As soon 
as he found that resistance was useless, he assumed the 
bearing of a hero and gave orders for a general review 
of his army : to which (being formed in a hollow square), 
in an animated and enthusiastic manner, he delivered 
this ever-memorable speech : ' My friends, if my father 
were here you would have confidence in him; but as 
for me, I am nothing more than a mere child. But as 



INTRODUCTION. 15 

to my courage, I shall now show myself worthy to 
command you.' 

" This young man started forth a military Eoscius, 
and maintained to the end of his career the high ground 
he first seized. After displaying all the skill of a vet- 
eran commander and all the courage of a most daunt- 
less hero, he nobly died upon the field of battle, at the 
early age of twenty-one, thus closing his short but 
brilliant career." 

The Jaquelines have English as well as French an- 
cestors. A branch of the family in America still cher- 
ishes a lock of Queen Elizabeth's red hair. This was 
acquired through Gary, Lord Hunsden, whom they 
claim as their English ancestor. His mother was Mary, 
daughter to Thomas BuUen and sister to the unfor- 
tunate Anne BuUen. 

Through the Smiths and Jaquelines my father was 
related to the Washingtons, Marshalls, Amblers, Joneses, 
Pages, Carys, and many other Virginia families. My 
father's grandfather, the Rev. Thomas Smith, was not 
related to his wife, Mary Smith, although she bore the 
same name. The result of this union was a family of 
three sons and four daughters. Among the list of their 
names in the family Bible we find a Mary Jaqueline. 
Their fifth child, Sarah, was born on the 27th of Feb- 
ruary, 1775, and her brother, John Augustine, seven 
years later. A thirteen-year-old sister, Ann, was struck 
by lightning and burned to death in her closet. 

' Thomas Smith was rector of Nomini Church, Oople 
Parish, Westmoreland County, from 1765 to 1789. At 
one time during the residence of his family at the 
rectory attached to this old church, there came an 
alarm that the British ships were coming up the Po- 
tomac River. The rector ordered everything that 
could be hastily collected to be put into a wagon to 
be driven off to a place of security. As the servants 
were engaged in loading up the wagon, the oxen moved 
one of the wheels against a plank on which a line of 
beehives were standing. The plank was upset and the 
hives thrown to the ground. The bees flew in every 
direction, stinging every living thing within reach. 



16 INTRODUCTION. 

The family and servants fled into the house. They 
were obliged to stuff even the keyholes to keep out 
the infuriated bees. The oxen ran entirely away, and 
the fowls which were in coops in the wagon were stung 
to death. 

The Eev. Thomas Smith died in May, 1789. Two 
years later, in December, 1791, his wife died. In Oc- 
tober, 1791, their daughter Sarah, in her seventeenth 
year, was married to Benjamin Dabnej^. He was a 
widower with three children, though but twenty-seven 
years old. Sarah's step-daughter. Aim, afterwards mar- 
ried her brother. Major Thomas Smith. 

Benjamin Dabney had given up the family mansion 
at Dabney's Ferry, together with his patrimony, on his 
father's death, to his brother and his half-brothers, and 
he made his home on the York River at Bellevue, in 
King and Queen County. He had also, to some ex- 
tent, used his own means in the education of his half- 
brother, James Dabney, and his wife's favorite brother, 
John Augustine Smith. Both young men received 
medical educations abroad, — James Dabney in Edin^ 
burgh, and John Augustine Smith in London and Paris. 
His kindness and trust were not misplaced. When 
his own early death deprived his children of a father's 
care, Dr. James Dabney and Dr. John Augustine Smith 
were the best friends whom his children had. 



XvlEMORIALS 

OP 

A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 



CHAPTEE I. 

BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS. 

My father, Thomas Smith Gregory Dabney, was borD 
at Bellevue, his father's country-seat on the York 
River, in the county of King and Queen, Virginia, on 
the 4th day of January, 1798, and he used to tell us 
that he was two years in the Avorld before General 
Washington left it. 

Two brothers had died in infancy before his birth, 
and the vigorous boy was hailed with much rejoicing. 
The christening was a great event. It was celebrated 
at Bellevue on so large a scale that the cake for the 
feast was made in a churn. Often as children we heard 
the old servants refer with pride to this occasion, and 
to the large company invited to witness it. In the old 
Smith Bible, for the rebinding of which one hundred 
dollars of Continental money is said to have been paid^ 
is found this entry, in his mother's small, old-fashioned 
handwriting: "Thomas Smith Gregory Dabney, our 
third child, was born on the 4th day of January, 1798: 
was baptized the 11th May, 1798. His godfathers 
were Messrs. Robert Wirt, Harvey Gaines, Thomas G. 
Smith, James Dabney, Thomas Fox, and Edward Jones. 
His godmothers were Mrs. Lee, Miles. Milly Williams, 
Elizabeth Robinson, Mary S. Whiting, Mary Camp, 
and Ann S. Dabney, and Ann Bay top." The first in- 
h 2* 17 



18 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

ciclent recorded of the baby was his great terror at the 
sight of a very ugly lady, a visitor of his mother's. 
"Missis, he didn't know if she was folks," was his 
nurse's explanation when his screams had drawn at- 
tention to her charge. When only one year of age he 
was inoculated, having been sent with his nurse to a 
public hospital, as the custom then was in Yirginia. 
In due time he passed safely and without disfiguring 
marks through the dangers of varioloid. He used to 
relate to us that his mother had said that one of the 
happiest moments of her life was when her spool of 
cotton fell from her lap, her little Thomas, then eigh- 
teen months old, picked it up and handed it to her. 
When he was two years old his brother, Philip Augus- 
tine Lee, was born, and, two years later, his sister, 
Martha Burwell. This little flock were taught their 
letters and to read by a favorite servant, the daughter 
of their mother's maid. Thomas had great difficulty 
in remembering one of the letters. Finally, a cake 
was promised, all for himself, if he would try still 
harder. So, all day he went about the house repeating 
" G, Gr," and the next day, when lesson hour came, his 
mother put his cake before him as fairly earned. 

My ftither's recollections of his father were very dis- 
tinct, considering that lie died in the forty-third year 
of his age, when his son Thomas had only attained the 
tender age of eight years. The memory of this father 
was ever a most cherished one, and his children re- 
member the almost pathetic manner in which in his own 
old age he lamented the untimely cutting off of that 
young life and brilliant career. 

Benjamin Babney was at the head of the bar in 
King and Queen County, and was engaged by the 
British government to settle British claims. In nearly 
every case that came to trial in his county he was en- 
gaged as counsel on one side. He was considered by 
his brethren in his profession to be the most learned 
man in the law in his section. The judge who at 
that time sat on the bench appealed to him when 
doubtful on any legal point, saying that Mr. Dabney 
knew the law, and there was no need to look into 



BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS. 19 

the books when he was at hand. My father used 
to tell us of his vivid recollections of seeing him drive 
home every evening when the court was in session. 
He was accompanied by his bodj^-servant, who followed 
the gig on horseback, and who, after my grandfather 
got out, carried into the house the shot-bags of gold 
doubloons that had been stowed away under the seat 
in the gig-box. He sometimes brought home several 
of these. One of his fees amounted to four thousand 
dollars, which, considering that he died when barely in 
his prime, and the value of money at that time, was 
exceptionally large. 

His eight-year-old son was already learning from him 
some of the fond, fatherly ways, which were destined 
years after to endear him to his own children and grand- 
children, and which he practised in imitation of this 
tender father eighty years after that father was laid in 
his grave. One of our earliest recollections of our father 
was his having some treat for us always on his return 
home from a visit. This dainty was invariably put in 
the very bottom of his great-coat pocket, and the de- 
lightful mystery of feeling for that package and bring- 
ing it up to light, and then, with eager, expectant fin- 
gers untying the string before the treasure could be 
seen, was a pleasure not to be forgotten. My father's 
face at such times was one of the great charms of the 
scene, so merry and loving, and almost as full of the 
pleasant little excitement as the group of bright young 
ones gathered around him. In explanation to a visitor 
who might be looking on, he would say, " This is the 
way that my father treated me. I shall never forget 
how I enjoyed running my hand down in his great- 
coat pocket when he came back in the evening from 
court. I was always sure of finding there a great 
piece of what we called in Yirginia ' court-house 
cake.' " 

He was like his father in his thorough business 
methods and his punctuality. On the days when Ben- 
jamin Dabney did not attend court he retired to his 
study after breakfast, and his wife used to sa}^ that her 
orders were not to have him disturbed unless the house 



20 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

was afire. Promptly at three o'clock he left his booira 
and his business cares behind him in his study, and, 
after dressing for dinner, joined his famil}^ in the draw- 
ing-room. He was invariable in his rule of being there 
ten minutes before dinner was announce i, and he ex- 
pected all in the house to conform to this. Many guests 
came and went at Bellevue, but this was never allowed 
to interfere with his business. After breakfast he 
would say to the gentlemen, " Here are guns and horses 
and dogs and books ; pray amuse yourself as you like 
oest. I shall have the pleasure of meeting you at din- 
ner." After dinner he was like a boy on a holiday, 
ready to join in anything that was proposed, and the 
life of every party. He was so elegantly formed that 
after his death it was said that the handsomest legs 
in America were gone. His death was caused by a 
violent cold, contracted in the discharge of his law 
business. At this time a young and rising lawyer, Mr. 
Charles Hill, was already beginning to share many of 
the important cases and large fees with Benjamin 
Dabney. This gentleman was destined to become the 
father of a child who, years after, married the son of 
his rival, Benjamin Dabney, and whom we knew as 
our dearest mother. 

Our faithful old nurse, Mammy Harriet, who grew 
up from childhood with my father, being only two 
years younger than himself, and who was scarcely ever 
separated from him, sits by me as I write, and she 
gives me an incident connected with the death of my 
grandfather too touching to be passed by. 

"Yes, honey,'" she says in her affectionate way, that 
seems to claim us still as her babies, " 'course I 'mem- 
ber when ole marster die. I 'member well de ole 'oman, 
Grannie Annie, who sot wid him night an' day — sot wid 
de coffin up-stairs — all by herself; lay by de corpse all 
night long, put her arms roun' de coffin, an' hold on to 
it, cryin' all night long. She foller de coffin twenty 
miles to Bellevue, whar dey buiy him; foller behin' it 
cryin' an' hollerin' an' hollerin' an' cryin' to marster to 
say how d'ye to Toby — dat was her son — an' to Mars 
Gregory Smith, — dat was marster's uncle, what waa 



BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS. 21 

dead. De ole 'oman use to wear gre't big pockets, wal- 
let-like, an' she used to fill 'em full o' peanuts an' hickoiy- 
nuts an' apples an' dem kind o' things, an' carry 'em 
to Mars Jeemes Dabney, de brother o' her own marster, 
what was dead. He was Doctor Dabney, you know, 
your cousin Jeemes's father. He thought a heap on 
her. Yes, to be sho, he was a married man den, wid 
two chillun. She mighty good ole 'oman. When she 
die her hyar was white as my cap." 

When Thomas was nine years old his mother, feel- 
ing that her brother, Dr. John Augustine Smith, would 
be a better judge than herself of the necessary require- 
ments for the education of her sons, sent them to him, 
and Thomas was under his care for nine years. Au- 
gustine had never been a strong child, and it was soon 
decided that he was not able to stand the rigorous 
climate of Elizabeth, New Jersey, where the boys had 
been placed at boarding-school. At this early age 
the devotion of a lifetime had begun between the two 
children. The tender care and admiration of Thomas 
for his gentle, studious brother knew no bounds. 
He used sometimes to tease him himself, but never 
allowed any one else to do so. He was the self-con- 
stituted champion of this younger brother, whose 
thoughtful, retiring habits might otherwise have drawn 
on him many petty annoyances from his heedless 
school-fellows. At this time Augustine possessed the 
gift, which he lost later in life, of handling bees and 
other insects without danger of being stung. When he 
was missed from the playground, he might often be 
found in some secluded spot, with various stinging 
insects tied to strings, flying and buzzing around his 
head. He was quite fearless, and so gentle that they 
seemed to understand that no hurt would be done them. 
Thomas was occasionally deluded into trying the same 
experiments on seeing how easily it seemed to be 
managed, but in an instant he was off roaring with 
pain, and bitterly rueing his misplaced confidence. He 
always believed that Augustine was by nature fitted 
for a naturalist, and he deplored thut his education 
was not turned in that direction. The harsh climate 



22 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

that froze the blood of the delicate boy and made hia 
return to his mother's care in the Virginia home neces- 
sary, built u}3 for the elder and stronger lad the iron 
constitution that was during his whole life the wonder 
and admiration of all who knew him. 

In talking of these school-days, he used to amaze his 
Southern-born children by his stories of the moonlight 
races that he and his schoolmates took over the New 
Jersey snows. This they did without an article of 
clothing on. They sometimes ran a mile, diversifying 
things on the way by turning somersaults in the 
snow-drifts that were waist-deep. When they got back, 
they would creep softly up-stairs and jump into their 
beds and sleep like tops. At last old Parson Eudd, 
the head of the school, got wind of all this, and strictly 
forbade it. Nothing daunted, the boys were out again 
like rabbits when the snows and the moonlights were 
propitious. They were captured once, as they entered 
the door, after one of these escapades, and Parson Eudd 
did not fail to flog them soundly all around. In those 
days flogging was considered as necessary for a boy as 
his food, and as good for him. 

The habits formed at this time clung to Thomas 
through life. He used frequently in winter to stand 
in the cold night- wind in his shirt and get thoroughly 
chilled, in order, he said, to enjoy returning to bed and 
getting warm. His family feared that revulsions so 
sudden would endanger his life, or his health, and tried 
to persuade him to give up what they could not but 
look on as a dangerous habit, but his laughing assur- 
ance that he liked it, and it agreed with his consti- 
tution, was the only satisfaction they received in answer 
to their solicitations. 

On one occasion during his school-days in Elizabeth 
his mother came to pay him a visit, and Mrs. Winfield 
Scott called on her there. As Mrs. Scott was taking 
leave her coachman, an ignorant Irishman, got the fiery 
horses into so unmanageable a state that they stood 
on their hind legs and pawed the air. In vain did he 
try to make them move off. Thomas, seeing the diffi- 
eiilty, asked Mrs. Scott to allow him to drive her home. 



BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS. 23 

She had not seen him before, and asked, "My little 
man, where do you come from, that you know how to 
manage horses ?" 

" I am from Virginia," he answered. 

" If you are a Virginia boy you may drive me home," 
she said. 

In a moment he was on the box by the coach man, 
and had shown to the unruly horses that a fearless 
hand had taken the reins. They yielded at once to 
him, and in a short time Mrs. Scott was at her own 
door. 

General Scott came out to meet her as he heard the 
carriage roll up, and as he handed his wife out, asked, 
" What young gentleman am I indebted to, my dear, 
for bringing you home?" 

"He did not tell me his name," she replied; "he 
only said that he was a Virginia boy. I do not know 
who he is." 

General Scott turned to thank him, but he was 
already speeding away across the fields. When he had 
gotten too far away to be thanked, he could not resist 
looking around to see how the horses were behaving. 
They were standing on their hind legs pawing the 
air. 

Thomas was taken from this school into the house- 
hold of his uncle, Dr. Smith. This gentleman was 
admirably fitted by nature and education for the trust 
committed to him by his sister in the care of her sons. 
His character was so strong, and of such uncompro- 
mising integrity, as to impress itself on all who came 
under his influence. He received his medical education 
in London and Paris, and was a practising physician 
in the city of New York when Thomas was put under 
his charge. When only thirty-two years of age his 
native State of Virginia called him to the presidency 
of William and Mary College. From this post he was 
recalled to New York by the offer of a professorship 
in the College of Physicians and Surgeons. Ultimately 
he rose to be president of the college. 

In order to stimulate Thomas's ambition in the city 
school which he now attended. Dr. Smith 'irged him 



24 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

to try to take the Latin prize. He did succeed in 
winning this prize, a handsome set of Plutarch's Lives, 
and when he carried the volumes home, his uncle took 
a five-dollar gold-piece from his pocket and put it into 
the boy's hand. His first thought was to spend the 
whole of this in candy and raisins, and he went as 
fast as his feet could take him to his favorite resort, a 
little candy-booth kept by E. L. Stuart. Unfortunately, 
sulphur had just been weighed out in the scales, and 
the raisins had a strong taste of sulphur when they 
were handed to the lad. He was made so ill by this 
that he could not eat a raisin for years. R. L. Stuart 
was, fifty years after this time, one of the millionaires 
of New York. 

Mrs. Smith heard Thomas say one day that he had 
never had as much pound-cake as he could eat. She 
made one for him, about the size of a grindstone, he 
used to say, and had it set before him when the dessert 
came on the table. "Now, Thomas," she said, " that 
cake is all for you." Thomas was cured of his fondness 
for pound-cake for the rest of his life by the very 
sight of this huge one, for he ate only a very small 
slice of it. 

But the lively, gay boy was more fond of going to 
the theatre than of his Latin books. He spent nearly 
all his pocket-money in this way; and during the nine 
years that he was with his uncle he saw almost every- 
thing that was brought out on the New York stage. 
He went nearly every night, and the inexhaustible 
fund of amusing songs that were the delight of his 
children and grandchildren, and that are indelibly asso- 
ciated with him by his friends, who cannot recall them 
without a smile, were learned in this way. 

After the horror of the burning of the Eichmond 
Theatre the play-houses were not entered in New York 
by the public for some weeks. Every night the mana- 
gers had their plays performed to houses absolutely 
empty. One night Thomas went to a theatre, and find- 
ing a man sitting there, stayed during the half of the play. 
But the situation of having all the actors and actresses 
looking at them, and going through their parts for 



BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS. 25 

them alone, became more and more embarrassing, and 
both Thomas and the man slipped quietly out. Curi- 
osity to see the end prevailed, however, and finding a 
Uttle crack in the lobby, the two stationed themselves 
so as to be able to peep through that, and held theii 
posts till the curtain went down on the last act. 

Ilis memory was very strong, and so clear in the 
minutest detail as to be the admiration of all who came 
in contact w^ith him. Everything that he heard or 
read seemed graven on steel. Hence, by this constant 
attendance at the theatre, he became famihar with 
Shakespeare's plays, and with all the standard works 
of the English drama. He was especially fond of 
Shakespeare's plays, and of " The Eivals" and " She 
Stoops to Conquer," and he quoted from them with ease. 
This, however, he rarely did, having an unconquerable 
shyness in making anything like a premeditated speech. 
At dinners he often made speeches and proposed toasts 
when the occasion called for them, but those who knew 
him cannot fail to recall the mounting color and slightly 
husky voice which accompanied even the shortest 
address. 

When he was nine years old he saw Eobert Fulton 
make the trial trip with his steamboat on the Hudson 
River. He never forgot the appearance of Fulton as 
he stood on the deck with folded arms, looking as if he 
were chiselled out of stone. All along the river-banks 
were the crowds who had gathered to witness what 
most of them had predicted would be ignominious fail- 
ure, and they would have shouted in derision if their 
evil predictions had been verified. Instead, involuntary 
shouts of wild applause and admiration burst forth as 
the wheel made its first revolution and the steamer 
moved off from her wharf like a thing of life. The river- 
bank all the way was lined with people who came to see 
the wondrous thing. In the city of New York it was 
known that the steamer was on her way down the 
river while she was yet several miles off by the loud 
shouts of the crowds on the river-banks. Thomas, like 
most boys born on tide-water, was exceedingly fond of 
boats and of all sorts of water sports, and used to amuse 

B 3 



26 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

himself by climbing the masts of the vessels in ]N"evp 
York harbor. From the roundtop-mast of an English 
ship, just brought in as a prize, he one da^y witnessed 
the steaming in of Eobert Fulton's steamboat. When 
he went back to his uncle's house, his mother, who had 
arrived on the boat, told him that she had seen a little 
fellow no bigger than himself up in the rigging of a 
big shij), and was amazed to hear that he was no other 
than her own boy. 

His admiration of naval courage and prowess was 
boundless, fostered in childhood by the recitals of his 
half-brother George, the midshipman, and later by the 
stirring scenes of the war of 1812. He was one in the 
funeral procession that bore our heroic " Don't-give-up- 
the-ship" Lawrence to his last resting-place in Trinity 
church-yard. 

At one time during his residence under his uncle's 
roof Dr. Smith became dissatisfied with his want of 
application to his studies, and advised his mother to set 
him to work at some handicraft. Accordingly, he was 
set to work in a printer's shop, and he printed a Bible 
before he concluded to apply himself to the cultivation 
of his mind. At the same time Augustine was sen- 
tenced to learn the business of a coachmaker for the 
same offence of idleness. He was actually in his 
mother's carriage, on his way to be apprenticed to a 
coachmaker, when, at Dr. Smith's suggestion, he was 
given one more opportunity of showing that he was 
not hopelessly indolent. The result with both boys 
was quite satisfactory; they returned to their books 
with new interest, and there was never again occasion 
to find fault with them on this subject. 

One night when Thomas was about fourteen years 
old he had run to a fire. This he always did when 
near enough to reach the scene. Above the uproar of 
the flames could be heard the screams of a poor woman 
entreating some one to save her baby, which she said 
was in the burning house. No one moved to attempt 
to rescue it. The smoke was already puffing out of 
the windows, and it was considered as much as a 
man's life was worth to enter the building. The boy 



BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS, 27 

seized a piece of rough scantling, which he adjusted 
to the second-story window that she indicated, and 
on this he climbed until he reached the window. 
He got into the room and felt his way to the bed, where 
the woman had said that her child lay. The bed was 
empty. Unknown to the mother, the child had been 
taken out and was in a place of safety. The boy now 
groped his way to the window. The fire had made 
such progress that the window-panes were falling in 
great drops of molten glass. Not a moment was to be 
lost, and he seized the scantling with both hands and 
slid to the ground. The liquid glass fell on his hands, 
and the splinters and nails, of which the scantling was 
full, lacerated them. The scars left by these wounds 
were so deep as to be plainly visible during his whole 
life. The crowd had watched with breathless suspense 
his climbing into the house, and it was believed that 
he had gone to certain death. His reappearance at the 
window was hailed with tumultuous cheers and ap- 
plause. The police crowded around him, asking his 
name, and the woman fell on her knees before him to 
bless him for his efforts in her behalf and to beg to 
know his name. He refused to give it, being quite em- 
barrassed at finding himself the centre of so much 
attention, when he had been doing what seemed to him 
so plain and simple a duty. He got away as fast as he 
could, and did not even tell his uncle of his adventure. 
The New York morning papers contained an account 
of the " heroic action of a young boy who had refused 
to give his name." It was many years before he men- 
tioned the circumstance to any one. 

One cold day, when he was about nineteen years old, 
he noticed on the ferry-boat, as he was coming from 
New York to Jersey City, a poor woman, who was 
shivering in her calico dress. He took off his great-coat 
and put it around her. 

In after-life he amused his friends very much by his 
stories of a certain Mr. , who, as some sort of ex- 
piation for having killed a negro, built a church, and 
undertook to gather a congregation and to preach to 
them. His efforts brousrht toirether a number of the 



28 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

wild spirits of the city. Thomas, who was afraid of 
Dr. Smith's displeasure if it were known that such a 
place was his Sunday evening resort, introduced him- 
self to this man under the name of G-regory. " Brother 

Grregory," as Mr. always called him, was promoted 

in this motley assembly to be the raiser of the hymns, 
and he was besides the senior warden. One of his 
duties was to snuff the candles ; he also handed around 
the plate for the contributions of the congregation. 
He received nothing but wads of paper and cigar-ends, 
but the man persisted in having the plate handed 
around regularly. There were no end of practical jokes 
played on him by his unruly congregation. They shied 
rotten apples at his head and blew out the candles, and 
tried in every way to interrupt him, especially when 
his eyes were tightly closed in jDrayer. It was observed 
that no amount of disorder or noise could make him 
unclose his eyes at these times, and so the merry fel- 
lows invariably played the wildest pranks on him as 
soon as he began the prayer. Thomas was often the 
leader of these, but the man never suspected him, as 
he always seemed so ready to help to catch the offend- 
ers. It must have been remarked even by Mr. • 

that he was singularly unsuccessful in these efforts at 
assisting him. One night he threw the snuff of a can- 
dle-wick on a fuse that he had arranged so that it 
would go off in the midst of the prayer. At the same 
moment the candles were put out all over the house. 
This time the unfortunate man was really so alarmed 
that he shrieked for Brother Gregory to come to him, 
that they meant to kill him. With a most ofl&cious 
show of zeal Thomas rushed forward. The two pur- 
sued the supposed offenders through the church, and 
up the stairs and through the gallery, Thomas taking 
good care not to overtake the fugitives. In the gallery 
they fled through a door, which they held against the 
united efforts of the preacher and his ally. At a pre- 
concerted signal they suddenly sprang from the door, 
which now gave way, and the poor man and his 
trusted friend were precipitated headlong on the floor. 
It is almost needless to say that the police frequently 



BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS. 29 

appeared on the scene when this horse-play became 

very uproarious. Mr. became so fond of his 

young friend that he took him to tea at his house one 
evening, and introduced him to his daughters, two 
very pretty girls. After tea he asked his guest to lead 
in prayer. But this was a length to which the boy 
could not be induced to go. Indeed, that he was asked 
to do it made such an impression on him that he made 
up his mind never again to attend the Sunday evening 

meetings. Years after this Mr. had occasion to 

go to Eichmond, Virginia, and he made many inquiries 
about a much valued friend, young Mr. G-regorj^, who 
had come, he said, from that part of the world, and 
whom he had lost sight of, much to his regret. Of 
course he found no trace of him. His mother, who 
heard of these inquiries, was greatly diverted. She had 
had many a hearty laugh over the stories of his esca- 
pades under the assumed name, for it was all too good 
to be kept from her. His mother went very often 
from her "Virginia home to visit her brother in [N^ew 
York. The devotion of Thomas to her was one of 
the strongest feelings of his nature. After her death, 
which did not occur till he was nearly sixty years of 
age, he said that he had never said a disrespectful word 
to his mother in his life. During her lifetime he never 
failed to go to visit her every other year, after he 
moved out to Mississippi. Until railroads were built 
this journey was performed in stages and by steam- 
boats, and it could not be made in less than two weeks. 
Each time he took one or two of his children with him, 
that he might show them to her in turn. The last 
child that was taken to her of the nine that she lived 
to see was the first-born girl, her own little namesake, 
Sarah. He had greatly desired to have a daughter, 
that she might bear his mother's name. 

While he lived with Dr. Smith he did all the family 
marketing. He also frequently went with him when 
surgical operations were to be performed. He learned 
so much from him in surgery as to be of lasting service 
to him in the care of his servants on his plantation. 
It was often said of him that he should have been a 

8* 



30 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

physician. His steady hand and strong nerve fitted 
him especially for the practice of snro^ery. When he 
was fourteen years old the war of 1812 broke out. A 
report came to the Gloucester home that the British 
were making a demonstration of landing at Old Point 
Comfort. The State of Virginia called for men to go 
to the defence of the Point, and among the drafted 
men was Mrs. Benjamin Dabney's overseer. I shall 
give the account of this in Mammy Harriet's words. 
She was a child twelve years of age at the time, and 
never forgot the scenes then witnessed. 

" 'Course I 'member when Mars Thomas went off to 
de wars. What's to hender me from 'memberin' ? He 
warn't grown, you know. He was just like Mars Ben, 
he own son Ben, when he went off to fight. You all 
know how you fix him up to go off to fight? Jest so 
he ma fix him up, and put him on de horse to ride to 
Old Point Comfort. De horse was Juno colt. Don't 1 
know Juno? She was one of missis carriage-horses, 
an' she used to stan' straight up on her hin' legs when 
she was put to de carriage. You see dey come an' call 
for de overseer, Maja, an' he was mighty skeered, an' he 
cum hollerin' to de house, ' Mrs. Dabney ! Mrs. Dabney ! 
Whar is she ?' Den she cum out an' tell her son Thomas 
to go in de overseer place, 'cause de overseer was of 
use on de place. Mars Thomas was delighted to go." 

Mrs. Dabney sent him on a lame horse, telling him 
that a lame horse was good enough to advance on, but 
would not do for a retreat. Her brother, Colonel 
Thomas Smith, was already in camp at Old Point 
Comfort, and Thomas was sent to join him. At the 
end of three weeks it was seen that this place would 
not be attacked, and Thomas returned home. He was 
through life a soldier at heart. Perhaps this early 
taste of the military life made the indelible impression. 
His step and bearing were those of a soldier, and this 
appearance was heightened by the old style of dress, — 
the swallow-tailed, blue cloth coat and gold-plated but- 
tons. This was his dress till he was over sixty years 
of age, when he no longer had the means to pay for 
the costly clothes. 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT ELMINQTON. 31 

On the breaking up of the camp at Old Point Com- 
fort, Thomas and Augustine were sent to the college 
of William and Mary. Here the}^ were once more 
under the eye of Dr. John Augustine Smith, who had 
just been called to the presidency of the college. A 
house was rented for the two boys, and, with the as- 
sistance of a cook and a body-servant apiece, they kept 
house during their collegiate course. Thomas was 
there for a comparatively short time, being called to 
take charge of Elmington. At this time his mother 
contracted a second marriage, Avith Colonel William 
H. Macon, of New Kent Count}-, and she moved to his 
home, Mount Prospect, in that county. 



CHAPTEE II. 

MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT ELMINGTON. 

On the 6th of June, 1820, Thomas was married to 
Miss Mary Adelaide Tyler, daughter of Chancellor 
Samuel Tyler, of Williamsburg. He was at this time 
twenty -two years old. This lady lived only three years. 
Of this marriage were born two children, Benjamin 
Augustine and Samuel Tyler. Samuel died in infancy. 
Augustine lived to be nine years old, a gentle, quiet 
boy, who early showed signs of the disease of which 
he died, water on the brain. 

When Thomas Dabney had been a widower about 
three years, he met at the county ball at King and 
Queen Court-House Miss Sophia Hill, the daughter of 
Mr. Charles Hill of that county. She was but sixteen 
years of age, and this was her first ball. All who saw 
her at that time say that she was one of the most 
beautiful creatures that the eye ever rested on. Her 
hair and eyes were of that rare tint called the poet's 
auburn, and her complexion was the fair, fine skin that 
is found only with such hair. Teeth of snow, a shapely 
head on lovely shoulders, hands and arms that might 



3:^ MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

have served as models for a sculptor, and a charming 
smile, and one of the sweetest voices in the world, 
made up a combination that is rarely met with. To 
this matchless beauty was joined a sunny, happy dis- 
position and bright manner that made her irresistible in 
her youthful grace. 

Thomas Dabney always said that he fell violently in 
love with her as soon as his eyes fell on her across the 
ball-room. He lost no time in securing an introduction, 
and before the evening was over he was resolved on 
winning this lovely girl for his wife. He found several 
formidable rivals in the wa}^, but he was so fortunate as 
to win her young heart. He drove from his home in 
Gloucester to her father's home, Mantua, on the Matta- 
pony Eiver, in King and Queen County, every two 
weeks during the two months' engagement. He went 
in his gig, with his body-servant following on horse- 
back. Each time he took a gift, — sometimes hand- 
some jewelry, and at other times volumes of standard 
English authors. 

On each alternate week he wrote a letter to her. 
None of these letters were answered. He looked for 
no acknowledgment, — his thought was that he was 
honored sufficientlj^ by her receiving them. This he 
expressed many years after, in speaking of a nephew 
who had complained that his betrothed did not write 
as often as he did. 

The marriage took place at the Mantua house, on 
the 26th of June, 1826. The ceremony was performed 
in the midst of a large company of i-elatives and friends. 
One who saw the bride the next day said that as she 
sat in her soft white gown, with her fair hands crossed 
in her lap and a smile on the beautiful face, she was 
like the vision of an angel. 

On that day Thomas took her home to Elmington. 
Her beauty and gentleness and modesty won the hearts 
of his friends. Mrs. Mann Page, of Gloucester, was 
celebrated for her beautiful hands, but after Sophia 
came, it was acknowledged that hers surpassed Mrs. 
Page's in beautjr. She found Elmington full of her 
husband's servants, who had been accustomed to take 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT EL MING TON. 33 

care of him during his life as a widower. She felt shy 
about taking* things into her own hands, fearing to 
excite their jealousy, and she took no voice in tho 
housekeeping for two years. 

The butler, G-eorge Orris, was quite equal to the trust 
committed to him. It was only necessary to say to 
him that a certain number of guests were looked for 
to dinner, and everything would be done in a style to 
suit the occasion. G-eorge himself was said to know 
by heart every recipe in Mrs. Eandolph's cookery-book, 
having been trained by that lady herself Virginia 
tradition says that Mrs. Eandolph had spent three for- 
tunes in cooking. At the appointed hour, in knee- 
breeches and silk stockings and silver buckles, George 
came to announce that dinner was served. 

George was so formidable in his dignity of office that 
the timid young wife stood quite in awe of him, and 
before she learned to know the good, kind heart that 
beat under that imposing appearance, was actually 
afraid to ask for the keys to get a slice of bread and 
butter in her husband's house. Some one asked George 
how he liked his new mistress. " I like her very much," 
was the reply, "only she wears her under petticoat 
longer than the top one." She was much amused on 
this being repeated to her, and explained that the 
white satin wedding-gown which George had seen her 
wear to her own dinner-parties was longer than the 
lace overdress that covered it. George was sincerely 
mourned at his death, which occurred a few years 
later. 

The lady's-maid, Abby, whom Sophia found at El- 
mington, was in her department as accomplished and 
as faithful as George Orris was in his. She took the 
new mistress at once all over the house, giving her an 
inventory of everything that had been left in her care. 
In speaking of this afterwards, when both mistress and 
maid were grown old together, Sophia said that not 
even the smallest thing had been misappropriated by 
those honest hands. 

On the 27th of March of the following year the first 
child was born. The happy parents gave him the name 



34 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

of Charles. But the child lived only nine months. On 
Christmas-day, 1828, a second son was given to them, 
whom they named Thomas. Then followed James, an- 
other Charles, and Yirginius. 

The life at Elmington was the ideal life of a Virginia 
gentleman. Elmington was situated on an arm of the 
Chesapeake Bay, the JS'orth River, in the county of 
Gloucester, that has so often been called the garden- 
spot of Yirginia. 

The house was of red brick, quaint and old-fashioned 
in design. It was built ver}^ near the water's edge. 
The lapping of the waves of the incoming tide was a 
sweet lullaby to the quiet scene, as the eye rested on 
the greensward of the lawn, or took in the bend of 
the river that made a broad sweep just below the Elm- 
ington garden. The JS'orth River is half a mile wide. 
On the other shore could be seen the groves and fields 
and gardens of the neighboring country-seats. The 
low grounds on the river-shore extend back a dis- 
tance of a mile and three-quarters, and lie like a green 
carpet, dotted here and there with grand old forest- 
trees, and corn, wheat, rye, and tobacco fields. Far as 
the eye can reach stretches this fair view around Elm- 
ington. And far over, beyond field and grove and 
creek, rises the line of soft, round hills that mark the 
highlands of Gloucester. 

On the land side, the Elmington house was ap- 
proached through the fields by a lane a mile and three 
quarters long. It was broad enough to admit of three 
carriage-drives. Many of the lanes in Gloucester lie 
between avenues of cedar-trees, and the fields in most 
of the estates are divided by cedar-hedges. It was so 
on the Elmington lands. 

About four miles inland from the North River, in a 
quiet spot, surrounded by venerable oak and pine and 
walnut and other native trees, stands old Ware Church. 
It was built in colonial times, and its age is unknown. 
It is nearly square in form, and altogether unlike the 
present stjde of church architecture in this country. 
But its ancient walls are churchly, and the look of un- 
C'hangeableness is soothing to the spirit in this world 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT ELMINGTON. 35 

of unrest. This was the parish church attended by 
the North Eiver people. The old pew-backs at that 
day were so high that the occupants were invisible to 
each other. Many of them might read the names of 
their deceased ancestors on the tombstones that served 
as a floor for the chancel. The floor of Ware Church 
was made of flagstones. Stoves were not then in use 
in churches, nor was any attempt made to heat them. 
Delicate people stayed at home in the winter, or had 
warming-pans of coals carried in by their servants to 
put to their feet. 

Grloucester County had been settled by the best class 
of English people who came to this country, the- 
younger sons of noble houses, and other men of stand- 
ing, who were induced to make their homes over here 
by an inherent love of change, or because they had not 
the means to live in the mother-country in the extrava- 
gant style required by their station. These brought 
to their homes in the New World the customs and 
manners of the Old. The tone of society has always 
been truly English in Lower Virginia, the " tide-water 
country," as the people love to call it. Everybody 
kept open house ; entertaining was a matter of course, 
anything and everything was made th^ occasion of a 
dinner-party. The country-seats were strung along 
the banks of the North Eiver in a way to favor this. 
A signal raised on one could be seen for several miles 
up and down the river. If one of the colored fisher- 
men, whose sole occupation was to catch fish for the 
table at the Great House, as they called their master's 
residence, succeeded in catching a sheep's-head, his 
orders were to run up a signal-flag. This was an invita- 
tion to dinner to every gentleman in the neighborhood. 
If a rabbit was caught the same rule was observed. 
Rabbits were not common, which seemed to be the 
pretext for this, for they were not really esteemed as a 
dainty dish. A rabbit was served up rather as a trophy 
of the hunt than as a part of the feast intended to be 
eaten. But the sheep's-head in tbose waters were not 
uncommon, and one was taken by the fisherman of one 
house or another nearly every day. At five minutes 



36 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

before the time for dinner the gentlemen would ride 
up, or come by boat to the door of the house that had 
the signal flying. If any one was unable to attend, his 
servant rode up promptly with a note of regrets. 
Punctuality in the observance of all the rules of cour- 
tesy and good breeding seemed inherent in the men 
and women in Gloucester society. In his Mississippi 
life Mr. Dabney was often annoyed by the different 
manners of his neighbors out there, very few of whom 
thought it necessary to send regrets or apologies when 
his invitations could not be accepted. 

Bishop Moore would go two or three miles out of 
his way in order to spend a day or two at Elmington. 
One night at about ten o'clock, in the midst of a snow- 
storm, he drove up. A game of whist was going on in 
the dining-room. Mr. Dabney, hearing the sound of 
his carriage-wheels, went out to welcome the guest, 
and found the bishop and his daughter there. While 
he was helping the old gentleman to get out of his 
great-coat before taking him in to the dining-room, 
the company there were busy hiding away the cards. 
Meanwhile, Bisliop Moore was telling him, with hands 
upraised, of the- cause that had brought his daughter 
and himself out in such weather and at such an hour 
— the people at whose house they had intended to sleep 
tliey had found engaged in a game of whist! Mr. 
Dabney roared with merriment in telling this stor}^ 
"The bishop saw the devil behind every card/' he 
always added. 

At this time John Tyler, afterwards President of the 
United States, was among his intimate friends, and he 
wrote to ask if he could come to Elmington for a week 
of absolute rest and quiet. Upon the invitation being 
sent, he came, and his wishes were respected in the 
true Virginia manner of letting the guests of the 
house be happy and comfortable in their own way. 
He sat all da}^ over his papers, no one being allowed 
to intrude on his privacy. Every evening, when he 
came down to dinner, he found a company invited to 
dine with him. 

Augustine Dabney had married Miss Elizabeth Smith, 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT ELMINGTON. 37 

of Fredericksburg, and lived in Gloucester, back in the 
country some miles from the North River. Thomas's 
nearest neighbor and most valued friend was his fathei's 
half-brother. Dr. James Dabney. Living on adjoining 
estates, their homes were barely a stone's throw apart, 
and not many hours of the day passed without inter- 
course between the two houses. The uncle and nephew 
Avere congenial in many ways, and Sophia revered and 
loved Dr. Dabney like a father. Thomas's aptitude foi 
medicine and surgery was at times so helpful to Dr. 
Dabney, that he fell into a way of calling on him fre- 
quently to assist him. He used to say that Thomas's 
soft hand and 9.cute sense of touch enabled him at 
times to diagnose a case that would baffle a practitioner 
of considerable experience who was not possessed of 
these natural advantages. He always had him at hand 
in his surgical cases if possible, and thus, under this 
uncle, were renewed the lessons given by Dr. Smith. 
Dr. Dabney was a man made of no common clay. His 
hospitality was on so princely a scale that he made no 
charge for medical services to any stranger visiting his 
county, thus making the whole county of Grloucester 
his home. Although for many years a widower, with 
only two children, both sons, the arrangements of his 
home were set with a view to a large household. 
Everything was on a scale liberal even for Gloucester. 

A lady now sixty-eight years of age writes thus of 
Dr. James Dabney : " He stood very high in his profes- 
sion. He was a widower from my earliest recollection. 
He had a housekeeper and fine servants, and enter- 
tained people by the score for months at a time. Even 
ladies used to stay there from cities." 

His home, the Exchange, was seldom without its 
guests of a day, or a week, or many months. The 
ample fortune of the host justified the elegant hospi- 
tality of the house. 

He had expended the whole of his patrimony during 
his five years at the medical school in Edinburgh. On 
his arrival in America, after graduating in medicine, he 
was obliged to borrow five hundred dollars in order to 
open his office as a practitioner of medicine at Gloucester 

4 



38 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Court-House. It was not long before his ability brought 
him into a large practice, not only in Gloucester County, 
but he was called to Eichmond, Norfolk, and other 
places as consulting physician. 

In the midst of Dr. Dabney's busy professional life 
his friends and neighbors called on him to represent 
his county in the Virginia Legislature. This he refused 
to do, alleging that he had no time for political work. 
But they were so persistent that he finally yielded. 
He stipulated, however, that he would not make one 
electioneering visit or ask for a single vote. In this 
he remained firm, and even went so far as to absent 
himself from the polls on the day of election. He 
was elected by a large majority, and he served the 
term out. His county people tried hard to induce him 
to allow his name to appear a second time as a candi- 
date for the Legislature. But he was not to be moved 
from his resolution of devoting himself henceforth to 
his profession. 

The strong character of Dr. James Dabney made 
its impress on Thomas. Doubtless he had inherited 
some of the traits with the blood of this large-souled 
uncle. 

Dr. Dabney's views about his own interment were 
very simple. He required from his son James a prom- 
ise to carry them out on his death, and his last wishes 
were respected. He was placed in a plain pine coffin, 
and no stone was set up to mark his grave. A brick 
wall saves it from desecration. Like his uncle, Thomas 
had a repugnance for costly and showy funeral trap- 
pings. He carried out these views in his own house 
bold. He always expressed a desire to be buried him 
self as he buried his loved ones, in a plain pine coffin, 
" That I may return as quickly as possible to the origi 
nal elements in the bosom of the earth." 

This taste was in accordance with the simplicity of 
character of the two men. They did nothing for show 
during their lifetime, and did not desire anything done 
for show over their ashes. 

In colonial days a robe of silk was spun and woven 
for the Merrie Monarch in Gloucester County, and in 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT EL MING TON. 39 

the garret of the Exchange the silk-worms spun the 
silk for two complete suits for General Washington. 
In color they were gray. Thomas Dabney remembered 
seeing the silk-worms up there when a child, and his 
aunt Anderson, who presented these suits to General 
Washington, used occasionally to give him a cocoon for 
a plaything. 

Thomas Dabney was interested in all that was going 
on in Yirginia. He rode to Eichmond frequently. 
When it was known that Watkins Leigh, or E. G. Scott, 
or the Stannards, or any other of the distinguished men 
of that day, were to engage in a debate, he was pretty 
sure to be there to hear them. Thomas was present 
at the famous dinner at Yorktown given in honor of 
the nation's guest, the Marquis de Lafayette. At the 
table he was placed next to George Washington Lafay- 
ette, who occupied the seat next to his father. It was 
in the month of October, and there was a small dish 
of red Antwerp raspberries sent by Mrs. Tayloe of 
Mount Airy. They came from her hot-houses, and 
were set before General Lafayette. The courteous 
gentleman leaned across his son and offered the berries 
to Thomas. He took two. 

The story is still told in Gloucester of Thomas's 
capture of a man by the name of Crusoe, living in the 
lower part of the county. This man had acted for 
some years in open defiance of the oyster law. No 
sheriff had arrested him. He openly boasted that none 
should. Thomas had lately been elected to this office, 
and he determined to make an attempt to capture 
Crusoe. Summoning a posse of three of his neigh- 
bors, he proceeded in a boat down the river to 
Crusoe's schooner, that was lying out in York Eiver. 
The schooner was well built and in stanch condition, 
while the boat which held Thomas and his friends 
was a wretched water-logged craft. As they drew 
near Crusoe's schooner, the sheriff called out to him to 
surrender. The onl}^ reply made to the summons was 
to cover the little Jooat of the sheriff' and his party 
with an enormous old swivel-gun, and to warn them 
^ith an oath not to advance any nearer. Thomas held 



40 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

a consultation with his friends, telling them that they 
must decide whether they were willing to approach 
the schooner under such circumstances. It was de- 
cided that it would be foolhardy to attempt to board a 
well-equipped boat when they were in a crazy thing 
that could not be managed in an emergency. So they 
went back home, leaving Crusoe master of the field for 
the time. 

Ascertaining that Crusoe was in bis house on a cer- 
tain night, it was resolved to capture him there. Ac- 
cordingly another posse was summoned, and Thomas 
and bis four men rode to the man's house, a distance of 
about twelve miles. They surrounded the house, and 
the sheriff knocked at the door and demanded instant 
surrender. Crusoe's wife put her head out of the 
window up-stairs and said that her husband was in 
bed ; that if Mr. Dabney would come up-stairs alone 
and unarmed, he would give himself up. The posse 
objected to these conditions, and said that Mr. Dabney 
should at least be accompanied by one of them, or 
should wear his arms. But he called to the woman 
that be was ready and willing to come up on Crusoe's 
terms. 

She came down then and unbarred the door, and he 
followed her up to the man's room. He gave himself 
up at once, and, at the sheriff's bidding, prepared to 
mount a horse and go with him as his prisoner. He 
was greatly dejected at the prospect of being thrown 
into prison to await his trial, and was very sulky as 
they rode along. The party did not stop till they had 
reached Elmington. 

When dinner-time came, Thomas ordered dinner to 
be served to him, but he refused to eat. He had not 
tasted food the w^hole day. Tiiomas said to him, " Mr. 
Crusoe, would you like to go back to your wife to- 
night?" The man looked up quickly, his whole coun- 
tenance changing. " I mean to put 3'ou on your honor," 
the sheriff continued. " You know that it is against the 
law for me to release you without bail. I will be your 
surety that you will be at Gloucester Court-House to 
pay the hundred dollars' fine in two weeks." 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT ELMINGTON. 41 

The man was much moved, and shed tears. The 
sheriff lent him his own horse to ride home. On the 
appointed day he was at the court-house with the 
hundred dollars in his hand. His gratitude to the man 
who had trusted him, one who had been an outlaw for 
years, made a changed man of him. He was ever after 
a law-abiding citizen, and was Thomas's stanch friend 
as long as he lived. 

Crusoe passed away years ago, but his son, himself an 
aged man now, loves to tell the story of Mr. Dabney's 
trust of his father. This son asked Mr. James Dabney 
of the Exchange if he was a relative of the former 
sheriff, and on hearing that they were cousins, ex- 
pressed his own gratitude and his father's for the 
confidence placed in him in the time of trouble. The 
fifty odd years that have passed since that time seem- 
not to have obliterated it from the memory of the 
Crusoe family. 

At the time when the negro rising known as the 
Southhampton insurrection was threatened, Thomas 
received from Governor Floyd a commission of col- 
onel of militia. He and his men kept their horses sad- 
dled and bridled in the stable every night for three 
weeks, ready for any alarm or emergency. He was 
an accomplished horseman, and sat his mettlesome, 
blooded stallion like a part of himself A boy in 
the neighborhood, whom his father asked if he would 
like to go to the court-house to see Colonel Dabney's 
soldiers drill, said in reply that he would rather see 
Colonel Dabney on his horse at the head of his regi- 
ment than all the soldiers. This boy, now a gray- 
headed man in Baltimore, delights yet in talking of 
those days. " When the drum and the fife struck up," 
he says, "that was the time that we boys had the fun 
Colonel Dabney's horse sprang into the air and seemed 
hardly to touch the ground, and we wondered how 
he kept his seat." 

On the night when it was understood that the negro 
rising was to take place he called his own negroes up, 
and put his wife under their charge, as his duty called 
him away from her. His charge to them was that not 

4* 



42 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

only was she to be protected by them, but she was not 
even to be alarmed; and if haim befell a hair of her 
head, they should be held accountable for it. The 
negroes were faithful, and guarded the house all night 
long, and with so much tact and genuine affection that 
when Thomas Dabney returned to his home the next 
day, his wife was amazed to hear from his lips the 
story of the peril that she, along with every white 
woman in Gloucester, had passed through during the 
night. 

It is a singular circumstance that, with the exception 
of the negroes on the Elmington place, not a negro 
man was to be found in Gloucester County on that 
night by the patrol. It was supposed that the daring 
spirits had gone to join in the uprising, while the timid 
ones had hidden themselves in the woods. 

About the year 1835 a great man}^ Yirginians were 
induced to remove with their families to the far South. 
For several reasons Thomas began to consider the 
expediency of moving out to the then new countrj^ 
He was considered one of the most successful wheat 
and tobacco farmers in his part of the State. But 
the expensive style of living in Gloucester began 
to be a source of serious anxiety. He knew that 
with a young and growing family to educate and pro- 
vide for the difficulty would be greater each year. 
He felt also the increasing difficulty of giving to his 
negroes the amount of nourishing food that he consid- 
ered necessary for laboring people. In view of these 
facts, he made up his mind that he must leave his 
home in Virginia for a new one in the cotton-planting 
States. 

Many and great were the regrets when it became 
known that Thomas Dabney had determined to leave 
Gloucester. 

The farewell dinner given to him at the court-house 
was perhaps the most notable ever given within the 
limits of the county. A copy of the Richmond En- 
quirer^ bearing date of September 22, 1835, contains 
the published account of the proceedings of the day, 
which is here inserted. 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT ELMINGTON. 43 

EXTEACT FKOM " THE KICHMOND ENQUIREK " 
SEPTEMBER 22, 1835. 

" To the Editors of the Enquirer : 

" Gentlemen, — Under cover you have the proceedings which 
occurred at a public dinner recently given by many citizens of this 
county to Colonel Thomas S. Dabney, the insertion of which in 
your paper of an early day is desired. I have the honor to be 
your ob't serv't, "John Tyler. 

" DINNER TO COLONEL THOMAS S. DABNEY. 

_ " Colonel Dabney being about to move to the State of Missis- 
sippi with a view to a permanent settlement in that State, many 
of his countymen united in giving him a public dinner at 
Gloucester Court-House on the 12th inst. The following letters 
passed on the occasion : 

" Gloucester County, Sept. 6th, 1835. 
" Dear Sir,— On behalf of many of the citizens of this county, 
who have learned, with the deepest regret, your determination 
shortly to leave Virginia for a residence in another State, we ten- 
der you an invitation to a public dinner to be given at Gloucester 
Court-House, on such day, prior to your departure, as may best 
suit your convenience. Those whom we represent are desirous of 
thus publicly manifesting their respect towards you because of 
their high estimate of your character as a man and your conduct 
as a citizen. We trust that no consideration will induce you to 
hesitate in yielding to their wishes, thereby affording them an 
opportunity, which may never occur again, of shaking you cor- 
dially by the ^hand and bidding you a warm and affectionate 
adieu. 

" We feel ourselves honored in having been made the channel 
of this communication, and subscribe ourselves, in all sincerity, 
your faithful and sincere friends, 

"William Bobbins, 
"Thomas Smith, 
"John Tyler, 
" Mann Page, 
"Egbert Curtis. 
"Col. Thomas S. Dabney, Elmington. 

" Answer of Colonel Dabney. 

" Elmington, Sept. 8th, 1835. 
" Gentlemen, — Your greatly esteemed note of the 5th inst. on 
behalf of many citizens of this county, tendering me a public 
dinner, has been received. Deeply sensible as I am that the honor 
proposed to be conferred upon me is immeasurably beyond my 
merits, yet the footing upon which you have been pleased to place 



44 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER 

my acceptance or refusal leaves me no alternative, for it is impos- 
sible I can refuse my long-tried and best friends an opportunity 
of bidding me adieu prior to my leaving the State ; and it might 
not become me to prescribe the mode. I therefore accept the in- 
vitation of my Gloucester friends with profound sensibility, not 
only for the distinguished and unexpected mark of their affection 
and confidence which it bespeaks, but also for the numberless ob- 
ligations with which they have been loading me for years past. 
If it should be agreeable to yourselves, gentlemen, and those whom 
you represent, I will meet my friends on Saturday, the 12th inst. 
" I have the honor to be, gentlemen, with perfect respect and 
esteem, your grateful friend, Thomas S. Dabney. 

"To Capt. RoBBiNS, Col. Smith, Gov. Tyler, Capt. Page, and Col. 
Curtis. 



" The Kev. K. K. Corbin, Benj. F. Dabney, Esq., and Eob«rt 
Nicholson, Esq., who are also about to leave the land of their na- 
tivity, were invited guests, the last of whom alone attended. The 
absence of the other two gentlemen was much regretted by all 
who were present. Notwithstanding the inclemency of the day, 
the seats at the table were filled. The tribute of respect thus paid 
to one of our most valued and most valuable citizens furnishes an 
admirable moral to the rising generation. It was the voluntary 
outpouring of the heart, in testimony of a well-spent life, offered 
by his neighbors, countymen, and friends, to a private citizen, 
mingled with the loss which our society is destined to experience 
in his emigration. Governor Tyler was called on to preside, and 
Captain Mann Page acted as Vice-President. After partaking 
of an excellent dinner, the cloth was removed, and the President 
addressed the meeting in a few brief remarks. He said that he had 
risen to propose a sentiment which he was sure to find the most 
cordial unanimity at that table, and he had as little doubt on the 
part of this whole community, if every citizen of the county was 
there assembled. Those present had met to render a tribute of 
respect to a native-born citizen of the county, who, after having 
passed the spring, and in some degree the summer, of his life 
among them, was about to migrate to a distant State, where he 
trusted he might reap the richest harvest of i-eputation and wealth. 
Heaven grant that his days may be long in the land which he pro- 
poses to inhabit I He will not fail to think of the land of his fore- 
fathers and the friends he has left behind. We, on our part, can 
never forget that Elmington, while his dwelling-place, was the 
seat of unbounded hospitality and of all the social virtues. He 
would say no more, but would propose: 

" ' Our guest, friend, and countyman, Colonel Thos. S. Dabney. 
His departure from among us leaves a vacuum in our society not 
easily to be filled. He will be to Mississippi what he has been to 
Virginia, one of her most useful and valuable citizens.' 



MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT ELMINGTON. 45 

" After the applause which this sentiment elicited had subsided, 
Colonel Dabney returned his thanks in a feeling and appropriate 
address, of which we regret we are unable to furnish more than the 
briefest outline. He expressed himself to be most deeply affected 
by the kindness manifested towards him. The motive which had 
led to this assemblage, the sentiment just uttered, and the warm 
response with which it had met, the organ through whom it had 
been announced, — all — everything was calculated to overpower him 
with sensibility. He stood in the midst of long-tried friends, to 
whom he was about to bid an affectionate and perhaps last fare- 
well. He was in the act of leaving his native home, and the land 
so dear to his affections. Those considerations left him no voice 
to utter one-half of what he felt. The prospect of bettering, in a 
worldly point of view, the ultimate condition of his children had 
induced him to seek a place of abode in another clime ; and he 
would say that if his humble bark, pushed out in what was to him 
an untried ocean of adventure, could be used as a breakwater by 
those who were here, or their children's children, when engaged 
in a similar voyage, he would regard himself as most truly happy. 
He added many other remarks, and concluded by offering the fol- 
lowing sentiment : 

"By Colonel Thos. S. Dabney: 'The citizens of Gloucester 
County, in the Old Dominion : 

'""Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see, 
My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee; 
Still to my brothers turns with ceaseless pain. 
And drags, at each remove, a lengthened chain." ' 

"By the Vice-President: 'Our friends emigrating from the 
County of Gloucester: Health, prosperity, and happiness attend 
them.' 

" By Captain P. E. Tabb : ' Our Guest: May the people des- 
tined to be his future associates know his virtues and appreciate 
his merits, as do the warm hearts met this day to testify their love 
and respect for him.' 

"By the Vice-President: 'Our Guest, Eobert Nicholson: A 
worthy son of the ancient dominion.' 

" Mr. Nicholson expressed his grateful thanks for the notice 
that had been thus taken of him. 

" By Mr. Nicholson: 'The State of Virginia — the land of my 
forefathers. My greatest boast shall ever be that I was born a 
Virginian.' 

"By Colonel Thomas Smith: 'Our friends Thomas Dabney, 
Kichard K. Corbin, and Benj. F. Dabney : They possess our love and 
respect, and when they move from among us we shall not forget 
them.' 

" By Wade Mosby, Esq. : ' The memory of the late Philip Tabb, 
one of Gloucester's best benefactors.' 

"Mr. Mosby preceded this by remarks expressing his great 



46 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

veneration for the character of Mr. Tabb, which called for an ac- 
knowledgment from Mr. Philip E. Tabb, as the representative of 
the family, which was rendered after the most feeling manner. 

'* By C. S. Jones, Esq. : ' Colonel Thomas S. Dabney : May the 
star which guides his destiny lead him and his to prosperity, to 
everlasting peace and happiness.' 

'^ By John P. Scott, Esq. : * Mrs. Thomas Dab7iey, to whom may 
be applied the words of the noble Cornelia, when inquired for her 
jewels, pointing to her sons, " These are they." ' Mrs. Dabney's 
name was received with long-continued applause. 

" By John K. Cary, Esq. : ' The State of Mississippi : She will 
ere long contain some of Virginia's most noble sons ; she will not 
fail to cherish and honor them.' 

" By Eichard Morriss, Esq. : ' Hinds County of Mississippi : A 
State within itself, — Jackson, the seat of government ; Clinton, 
the seat of science ; Eaymond, the seat of justice ; and Amster- 
dam, the port of entry.' 

"By Andrew Yan Bibber, Esq.: 'Augustine L. Dabney: 
Though not with us, not forgotten ; one worthy of all remem- 
brance. ' 

" By A. L. Byrd, Esq. : ' Colonel Thos. S. Dabney : I have 
known him for seventeen years ; if he has any superior in those 
qualities that adorn a man, I should like to see him.' 

" By John T. Seawell, Esq. : ' Wyndham Kemp, and those of 
our fellow-countrymen who will soon join him : May God remem- 
ber me as I remember them.' 

"By Dr. P. E. Nelson: 'Virginia: I can never leave thee ov 
forsake thee, — 

* " The bridegroom may forget his bride 
Was made his wedded wife yestereen, 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on bis head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget her child 

That hangs so sweetly on her knee, 
But I'll remember thee, my State, 
And all that thou hast been to me." * 

"By Eobert Tyler, Esq.: 'The Emigrants: With sorrow and 
regret we part with our fellow-countrymen ; but if they will go, 
we pray God speed them.' 

" By C. S. Jones : ' We lose in our friend Colonel Dabney one 
of Virginia's most valued sons ; but no matter where his destiny 
may be cast, his motto will still be " States rights forever." ' 

" By Wade Mosby, Esq. : ' The memory of Thomas T. Tabb, 
late of Todsbury : Hospitable, generous Virginian, — who that knew 
thee does not mourn over thy grave, and shed tears for thy too 
early death?' 

" By J. S. Cary, Esq. : ' Wyndham Kemp, Esq., of Eaymond, 
Mississippi : Though far away, thou art not forgot.' 

" By A. L. Byrd, Esq. : ' Eichard E. Corbin and Dr. Benjamin 



LEAVING THE OLD HOME. 47 

F. Dabney : They are about to leave us. with our friend ColoneJ 
Dabney, — may Heaven crown their eflbrts with success.' 

"By John Tyler, Esq.: 'The good old County of Gloucester: 
Her name is identiHed in history with the names of Nathaniel 
Bacon and John Page, of Rosewell. The one resisted the arbi- 
trary acts of a king's governor^ the other of a king. Let us cherish 
their names and emulate their virtues.' 

"By John T. Seawell, Esq.: 'Mrs. Thomas Dabney: "Take 
her for all in all, these eyes shall never look upon her like again." ' 

"Numerous other sentiments were given, which unfortunately 
did not reach the chair, and the day concluding, terminated a 
feast as full of reason and the flow of soul as ever it has been our 
good fortune to witness." 

Mr. Dabney gave a farewell dinner to his friends at 
Elmington. As the concluding toast was drunk, — it 
had been proposed by the host to their meeting again, — 
be struck off the stem of the dehcate wine-glass that he 
held in his hand, tbat no future toast should be drunk 
in it, he said. He requested that each guest present 
should break his wine-glass and keep it as a memento. 
One or more of these broken glasses are still preserved 
in Gloucester. 



CHAPTEE III. 

LEAVING THE OLD HOME. 

Thomas went through a large part of Alabama, 
Louisiana, and Mississippi looking at the country before 
deciding on a body of land in Hinds County, Missis- 
sippi. He succeeded in purchasing four thousand acres 
from half a dozen small farmers. 

The ancestors of both Thomas and Sophia Dabney 
had been slave-owners. The family servants, inherited 
for generations, had come to be regarded with great 
affection, and this feeling was warmly returned by the 
negroes. The bond between master and servant was, 
in many cases, felt to be as sacred and close as the tie 
of blood. 

During the course of years many of the Elmington 



48 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

negroes had intermarried with the negroes on neigh. 
boring estates. 

When the southern move was decided on, Thomas 
called his servants together and announced to them 
his intention to remove, with his family, to Mississippi, 
He further went on to say that he did not mean to take 
one unwilling servant with him. His plan was to offer 
to buy all husbands and wives, who were connected 
with his negroes, at the owners' prices, or he should, if 
his people preferred, sell those whom he owned to any 
master or mistress whom they might choose. No 
money difficulty should stand in the way. Everything 
should be made to yield to the important consideration 
of keej^ing families together. 

Without an exception, the negroes determined to 
follow their beloved master and mistress. They chose 
rather to give up the kinspeople and friends of their 
own race than to leave them. 

Mammy Harriet says of this time, " Marster was good 
all de time. He do all he could to comfort he people. 
When he was gittin' ready to move to Mississippi, he 
call 'em all up, an' tell 'em dat he did not want any- 
body to foUer him who was not willin'. He say, all 
could stay in Figinny, an' dey could choose dey own 
marsters to stay wid. Ebery one o' he own, and all 
who b'long to de odder members o' de fambly who was 
wid him, say dey want to foUer him, 'ceptin' 'twas two 
ole people, ole gray-headed people, who was too ole to 
trabble. An' dey was de onliest ones leff behind on dat 
plantation, an' de}^ did cry so much I did feel so sorry 
for dem. I couldn't help cryin', I feel so sorry. Our 
peo])le say, 'Ef you got a husband or a wife who won't 
go to Mississippi, lelf dat one behind. Ef you got a 
good marster, foller him.' My husband b'long to Cap 
pen Edward Tabb, an' marster went dyar twice to try 
to buy him. But Cappen Tabb say dat no money 
couldn't buy him from him. Den Mrs. Tabb say dat 
she would buy me, an' two odder people dyar wanted 
to buy me too. But I say 'No, indeed! G-o 'longl 
I shall foller my marster.' My sister want to go wid 
marster, too. She had five chillen dat was goin* wid 



LEAVING THE OLD HOME. 49 

him. I was standin' by marster when he talk to dey 
father, my brer Billy. He say, ' Billy, your children 
shall not lack for father and mother. I will be both 
father an' mother to them.' I heerd him say dat my- 
self, an' he did it too." 

The five brothers and sisters were ever favorite and 
trusted servants. I did not know till I heard this 
account from Mammy Harriet the special reason of 
their being favored above others. I often heard my 
father speak of them very affectionately. One day 
he said that he had never had occasion to punish one 
of them but once, when the girl had frightened the 
baby Yirginius by telling him that a lion would catch 
him. " I hated to punish one of that truthful, honest 
family," he said; "but my orders had always been 
that no child of mine should be frightened by any one, 
and I could not pass it over." 

When it was resolved to leave Yirginia, the baby boy 
was named Virginius, after the beloved State that had 
given birth to his ancestors. This child, the youngest 
of four brothers, was but six months old when, in 
September, 1835, the long journey southward was 
begun. 

Sophia's father and mother and her two sisters, one 
married to Mr. Lewis Smith, with her husband and two 
children, Augustine Dabney, with his wife and family, 
and other kinsfolk and friends had become quite in- 
fatuated with the desire to go with Thomas to Mis- 
sissippi, and a number of these arranged to undertake 
the move along with him. Mr. Charles Hill took 
charge of the carriages that held the white families, 
while Thomas had the care of the negroes and wagons. 
The journey was made with so much care and fore- 
thought that not a case of serious illness occurred on 
the route. The white families were quartered at night, 
if practicable, in the houses that they found along the 
way. Tents were provided for the negroes. The mas- 
ter himself, during the entire journey, did not sleep 
under a roof The weather was perfect : no heavy rains 
fell during the two months. He wrapped himself 
in his great-coat, with sometimes the addition of a 
c d 5 



50 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

blanket, and slept all night in their midst, under one 
of the travelling; wao-ons. 

One of the first nights on the road was spent at the 
house of Thomas's cousin, Mr. Thornton, of King Wil- 
liam County. The cousins had never met, but Mr. 
Thornton, hearing that the moving families were to 
pass by his gate, sent to beg that his kinspeople would 
stop in their journey for a day or two and refresh 
themselves under his roof Thomas sent Mr. and Mrs. 
Hill and Sophia and the children to accept this hos- 
pitality, feeling unwilling himself to leave the large 
number of negroes under his care for even one night. 
Those who were entertained by Mr. Thornton greatly 
enjoyed it. It was a regret to Thomas not to meet 
this kinsman of his father's. This regret was greatly 
increased when, during the Confederate war, he learned 
of the death in his country's cause of a noble scion of 
this house, the lamented Colonel Thornton, known and 
beloved as " Jack Thornton." 

My dear father was very fond of recounting anecdotes 
and incidents, especially in his table-talk, of brave and 
generous and honorable deeds. At such times his eye 
kindled, and his whole face glowed with the intensity 
of his feeling. It was quite impossible for a young 
person to look at him, and to hear his words and tones, 
without an aspiration to be worthy of such commenda- 
tion. 

The stern incorruptibility of his wife's father was a 
theme on which he had talked with earnest enthusiasm 
to his children. He was very fond of relating an occur- 
rence that took place on the journey from Virginia to 
Mississippi. Somewhere in the mountains of Tennes- 
see one of my grandfather Hill's carriage-horses had 
fallen ill, and was quite incapable of proceeding farther. 
Thomas set about to look for a substitute ; meanwhile 
trying such remedies as he could think of for the ailing 
horse. While he was standing by the beast, a country- 
man rode up on a fine, powerful horse. At once Thomas 
inquired if he would sell him. To his surprise, the man 
answered immediately that he would exchange his horse 
for the sick one, if ten dollars were added. The bar- 



LEAVING THE OLD HOME. 51 

gain was made in a few minutes. Then Thomas said 
to the man, " Now you have the money, there can be 
no objection to j^our telling me the fault in this vigor- 
ous young creature, that looks to me like a very valuable 
horse." 

" I will tell you what is his fault," the countryman 
answered. " He is very good for some things, — for draw- 
ing in double or single harness, and for a saddle too, and 
he ain't got no tricks. He is as gentle as a cat. But 
he won't tote double. Me and my old 'oman wants 
to go to meetin', that's the main thing that we wants 
a horse for, and he won't tote us both. That's the 
reason that I want your horse. I ken cure him very 
soon. Thar ain't much the matter with him." But 
the man was mistaken. In a few hours the sick car- 
riage-horse was dead, never having moved from the 
spot where he had been sold and bought. 

The next day Mr. Hill, who had fallen somewhat be- 
hind, came along over the same road. He saw the great, 
hulking mountaineer weejDing bitterly by the side of a 
dead horse, which he at once recognized as his own. 
He stopped and inquired into the case, and the man 
related the transaction, attaching no blame to any 
one. He had made his own terms, and had been quite 
elated with his bargain until he found that none of 
his nostrums, in which he had so confidently trusted, 
availed anything. 

Mr. Hill rode forward to Thomas and desired him to 
return at once, and to see that the man was quite satis- 
fied before leaving him. This Thomas did. The man 
said that five dollars more "in United States money" 
would compensate him for the loss that he had sus- 
tained, and his tears were dried in a moment when this 
was handed to him. Tennessee was in those days but 
sparsely settled, and the simple countrj^ people were 
delighted to receive travellers, and to give them the 
best that the land produced, almost considering them- 
selves repaid by the pleasure of their company. At 
one house, after a bountiful supper on chickens, eggs, 
butter, cream, honey, and other country delicacies, for 
which the price charged was so insignificant as to seem 



52 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

quite absurd, our travellers asked what the charge 
would be if they spent a week there. Mine host re- 
plied that he could hardly say, that he had had but one 
boarder. This boarder had come to spend a week, but 
had stayed on and on till two months were passed, and 
he had thought that one dollar a week was about the 
right thing to charge him. His horse, he added, had 
cost him nothing, and so there had been no charge made 
for him, and he had kept fat on the mountain pastures. 



CHAPTER lY. 

MAMMY HARRIET'S RECOLLECTIONS. 

1 GIVE here Mammy Harriet's account of the journey, 
taken down by me as she sat by my side a ffew weeks 
ago: 

" We leff in September, when dey was pullin' fodder, 
an' we git to Mississippi three weeks to Christmas. 
Missis had so much patience wid her chillun. Some- 
times she gib 'em one pat wid her low slipper. One 
pat was 'nuff. I say, ef I had all dem chillun I should 
knock some on 'em in de head wid de odders. On dat 
road I come to somethin' what I nebber see before; it 
'twas a log town. All de houses was made out o' logs ; 
all ' ceptin' de court-house. Dat was weather-boarded. 
1 dunno whar 'twas. 1 nebber 'quire 'bout dat. 'Twas 
somewhar 'tween Mississippi an' de old country. We 
got to de Injun chief's. And de young Injuns come 
from de muster. Dey had on dey muster-close, and 
dey had on de appleettes on dey shoulders and de 
silver ban's on de hats. Dqj was de grummest people 
what I ebber see. Dey look mad as de ole scratch. I 
thought cert'inly de}^ would speak to your pa, but dey 
didn't dat ! Dey was de savagest-lookin' people. But 
dey was sosherble wid your pa, an' gib him de liberty 
o' lettin' us hab some lumber to fix a place to sleep. 
Dey was de headest people what I ebber see. We 



MAMMY HARRIETS RECOLLECTIONS. 53 

women buss out larffin' when we hear 'em talk. De;^ 
was mighty savage people. We butt up wid a whole 
parcel on 'em ebery day. Dyar was mos' as many o' 
dem trabellin' as dyar was o' us. I was 'feared on 'em. 
I nebber see a yaller Injun before. In Figinny dey 
was dark. De wife o' de chief ask marster to let her 
hab de ferry-boat to go to see her sick daughter. He 
had 'gaged it to tik us over. He say ' certainly.' 

" One day a beggar come 'long, an' marster gib her 
five dollars. Your pa was always good ; good to every- 
bod}^ 

" Marster was so good to us. He do eberything on 
dat journey dat was for our good. 

" Marster do all he could to comfort he people. 

"He buy fresh meat, salt fish, eberything. Ef he 
see a turnip-patch or cabbages or apples or'taters, ho 
say, ' Gro on, see if you can get these things.' Sometimes 
dey gib 'em to us, sometimes we buy. One ole man 
say, ' I want a 'oman to live wid me. Don't you think 
your marster would let me have a 'oman or a chile ? I 
would like to buy you. You seem to be a very likely 
'oman.' 

" ' Buy who ! buy me !' " And as my dear old black 
mammy recalls this insult to herself and to her hon- 
ored master, her dim eyes kindle, her voice is full of 
suppressed feeling, her frame at its height, her manner 
such as might become an enraged pythoness. " ' Ko, 
not one ! Don't you know marster don't want to sell 
none o' his people ? We are follerin' our marster. We 
ain't no nigger-traders. No, when marster sell any o' 
his people 'tis 'cause he is made to do it. 'Tis 'cause ho 
cyarn't do nothin' wid 'em himself. '* 

"We did live like princes, I can tell you. Sich a 
cookin' ! sich a cookin' ! We bile greens an' ebery- 
thing. We live good ; we did that. We didn't want 
for nothin'. All had uraberillas, ebery one, an' when 
it rain you see all dem umberillas go up. 



* Mammy's testimony here is pathetic. One of the four negroes 
whom her master sold was her son. 

5* 



54 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

"Marster did eberything to comfort he people on 
comin' to Mississippi, eberything to comfort 'em. 

"Marster gib we all new fryin'-pans an' buckets for 
de journey. Be big famblys he gib two buckets to. 
You see we sell all our things. We git good prices for 
'em, too, 'fore we leff Figinny. He gib me one bucket. 
Dey make me very mad, 'cause dey tik my bucket to 
water de horses and de muels an' eberj^thing. I say, 
'Who got my bucket?' Eberybody say, 'I dunno.' So 
I say, ' Lem my bucket alone ; marster done gib it to 
me. Nobody sharn't hab it.' Den one day I was 
scttin' down, an' my bucket was by me, an' de ober- 
seer or some o' de white folks sen' for my bucket. I 
say, 'Lem my bucket 'lone. I don't keer who wants 
it. Marster gib it to me. Ef he want it he ken hab it, 
but nobody else.' Den de oberseer come an' say, 
' Harriet, give me that bucket.' ' I won't. It is mine. 
Marster gib it to me.' Den he went to marster an' tole 
him dat I say dat. Den marster say, ' You let Harriet 
alone ; let her bucket alone, every one of you. Do not 
touch it.' 

" When we come to Eaymond marster say, 'This is 
the last town. If you want to buy anything, go in an' 
buy.' 

" So we all 'eluded dat, seein' 'twas de las' town, we 
would go in an' buy. I went in an' buy cups an' 
saucers an' plates an' coffee-pot an' things. Deii 
when we got to de Burleigh land we was all right. T 
was jes' as well satisfied as eber I was in ole Figinny 
jes' as soon as I got settled." 

Mammy Harriet's testimony of the life and charactei 
of her master, taken down in the freshness of her grief 
for his loss, is not arranged with any system. It seems 
best to set it down just as she said it. She grew up 
with him. They were never separated until the last 
few years of his life, when he had not the means of 
supporting his faithful old servants about his person. 
He did not fail to provide her with such comforts as 
he was able to pay for as long as he lived. "Law, I 
tells eberybody dat mammy is jes' as well off as sha 
was in slave'y times," her daughter has said, in seeing 



MAMMF HARRIETS RECOLLECTIONS. 5^ 

clothing and provisions sent to her mother at stated 
intervals. "Law, mammy don't hab no trouble like we 
all, 'cuz de white folks don't forgit her " 

" I hates to talk 'bout him," she says, with a groan. 
"When I hear 'bout it I thought 'twould hab kilt me. 
I nebber had such feelin's before. I cyarn't 'spresa 
what I did feel 'bout it. Oh, my good marster is in 
glory, but we cyarn't help missin' him ; we cyarn't help 
it. I nebber was so surprised in my life as when I 
hear 'bout it. It make me sick an' nervous to talk 
about him an' about dem times ; but for de satisfaction 
ob you all I talk 'bout him. 

"Ain't you ebber see your grandma, honey? She 
always was pretty, honey, a mighty pretty 'oman. 
She had black hyar an' eyes. Your pa was like her in 
dat. An' she had a noble 'pearance. Marster was like 
her in dat. He move to what dey call de Shipyard 
from Bellevue. We didn't live dyar no time, 'cordin' 
to my understandin'. Bat's what de ole people tell 
me. I don't 'member 'nuthin' 'bout it. Dat was 'fore 
we move to Elmin'ton. 

"I had a weddin' — a big weddin' — for Mario w's 
kitchen. Your pa gib me a head weddin, — kilt a 
mutton — a round o' beef — tukkeys — cakes, one on 
t'other — trifle. I had all de chany off de sideboard, 
cups an' saucers, de table, de white table-cloth. I had 
on your pa's wife's weddin' gloves and slippers an' veil. 
De slippers was too small, but I put my toes in. Miss 
Mary had a mighty neat foot. Marster brought out a 
milk-pail o' toddy an' more in bottles. De gentlemans 
an' marster stand up on de tables. He didn't rush 
'mongst de black folks, you know. I had a tearin'- 
down weddin', to be sho'. Nobody else didn't hab sich 
a weddin'. Yes, Sis Abby hab a mighty nice weddin', 
too,— cakes an' things, — a handed roun' supper, you 
see. Marster promised de fust one what git married 
arter he did a tearin'-down weddin', an' I was de fust. 
De whole day 'fore I was to be married Miss Mary — 
dat was your pa fust wife — kep' me shut up in a room. 
*A bride must not be seen,' she said. An' she wouldn't 
lemme come out to dinner, but she sent my dinner in 



56 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

to me on a plate. De nex' mornin' I went to marster's 
an' Miss Mary's room 'fore dey was up. 'Who is that? 
she say. I say, ' Harriet.' ' Good-morning, Mrs. Bride, 
I wish you joy.' 

" Oh, yes, I'se been see good times ! 

"In dem days I alwa^^s dress my hyar very fine an 
wear a high top comb in it. 

" I don't nebber 'spect to see no sich times again. 

" Miss Mary was a lady to de tips o' her toes. Sho 
hab de most beautifullest walk dat ebber I see. I used 
to love to see her walk off. I nebber see nobody walk 
like her. 

" I want to tell you how good marster was to his peo- 
ple in Figinny. De people would ketch a few oysters 
ebery day, an' by Sadda}^ dey would hab a heap o' 
oysters piled up on de bank. Den dey would go to 
marster an' say, ' Marster, I'se got a heap o' oysters dat 
I would like to sell.' ' Very well,' he would say ; ' go 
along and take the cart and mule and take your oysters 
around and sell them.' In de harves'-time he had two 
waitmans to wait on de people who was cuttin' de 
wheat and de barley. An' dese two waitmans dey had 
two gre't harmper-baskets full o' bottles o' whiskej^, — a 
pint for ebery man an' half a pint for ebery 'oman. 
An' dey used to larf an' say to de young gals, ' You 
young gals ought not to drink whiskey so; you ought 
to put water in it.' But de young gals always tik de 
whiskey. 

"Me an' Sis Patsy was de milkers, and Miss Mary 
used to say, 'You young girls* must not drink whiske}^ 
in that way.' So she always put mine an' Sis Patsy's 
in a pail, an' put water an' sugar in it, an' gib it to us 
so. You see, we was house-servants. She was a good 
lady, mighty good, — sich a good missis. 

" When de harves' was gathered, de dinner for de 
black people was cooked in de kitchen, — same as for de 
gre't folks, — all sorts o' nice things. She would go out 
den an' cut off de house-servants' dinners. Ef there 

* In quoting her master and mistress, Mammy generally used correci 
language. 



MAMMY HARRIETS RECOLLECTIONS. 57 

was a piece o' sp'iled meat she would saj^, ' Throw that 
out to the dogs. That is not fit for people to eat.' She 
had a big chany bowl, an' if a roach fell in it, she had 
ebery drop o' de molasses thro wed out. She say, ' That 
is not fit for the servants to eat. They shall not eat it.' 
She nebber let her people eat what she would not eat. 

" Dey had big doin's, I know, when your ma was mar- 
ried, 'cause Mrs. Hill was a stawmped down fine lady, 
— a lady from de crown o' her head to de bottom o' her 
foot. 

" In your pa house de servants eat dinner after de 
marster an' de missus eat, — de same things as dey eat. 
Uncle George sot de table for de servants to eat. Dyar 
was plenty on 'em. Dey come wid dey marsters an' 
missises. Mr. Eoot come in carriage an' four an' three 
servants. He nebber trabble wid less. De maid sot by 
he side in de big carriage, an' de man ride postillion, 
an' de biggest gre't dinners, gent'mans ! George Orris 
was de cook for dese big dinners. He tik apples or 
oranges either an' he cut handles an' figgers an' pre- 
serve 'em. He feed de tuttles out in de ribber whar he 
tie 'em. He mik four dishes out o' one tuttle, — force- 
meat balls an' things. Mammy can't 'member all de 
names o' de dishes. De day dat tuttle was cooked de 
people come fo' what was out ! He mik a fine dish out 
o' chicken-foots an' heads, — fricassee 'em. 

" When we fust come out to dis country, Mississippi, 
marster made de ploughers tik out de muels at eleven 
o'clock. An' he didn't 'low 'em to put 'em back 'fore 
three o'clock, an' nobody worked in dem hours, I 
s'pose dat was to get us used to de new country. Oh, 
no, we was nebber hurried. Marster nebber once said, 
' Get up an' go to work,' an' no oberseer ebber said it. 
neither. Ef some on 'em did not git up when de odders 
went out to work, marster nebber said a word. Oh, no, 
we was nebber hurried. 

" In later times our ploughers and de odders worked 
till twelve o'clock, an' den dey tik out de muels an' 
eberybody sot down to eat an' res' till three o'clock. 
Sometimes when we was all settin' roun' one would 
say to de odder, ' Come, le's we git up an' go to work. 



58 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

We hab been settin' here long 'nuff.' But marster 
nebber said sich a thing. In dera days some o' de 
people used to obersleep deyselves. We used to larf 
80 much at 'em ; 'speshuUy at Sarah, my brer Billy's 
daughter. Marster would nebber hab no horn to wake 
us up. When one oberseer come dyar wid he horn, 
marster soon put a stop to dat. He said, ' I do not keep 
hounds to be called up with horns.' Sarah was a gre't 
hand to obersleep herself, an' marster didn't nebber let 
nobody call her, nor any o' de odders what obersleep 
dyselfs. He say, ' Don't trouble them. They cannot 
help that.' An' to dem he would say, ' Ef you don't 
wake up till twelve o'clock, get up and come out to 
work then. Don't stay at home and say that you are 
sick, because I don't blame you.' Sometimes I would 
not get through givin' out de buttermilk to all de little 
black chillun, an' dat was 'bout eleven o'clock or twelve 
o'clock, an' I would see marster an' Sarah goin' out to 
de fiel' together. An' we would all larf at Sarah, and 
she would say, ' What you all larffin' 'bout ? G-o 'long. 
You do like you ain't got no sense. You fools, go 'long.' 
Sometimes we larf 'bout dat to dis day wid Sarah, an' 
we set an' talk 'bout it. You ken ask her, an' she will 
tell you jes' what I tell you 'bout it. 

" Yes, honey, dat he did gib us Fourth o' July, — a 
plenty o' holiday, — a beef kilt, a mutton, hogs, salt and 
pepper, an' ebery thing. He hab a gre't trench dug, 
an' a whole load o' wood put in it, an' burned down 
to coals. Den dey put wooden spits across, an' dey 
had spoons an' basted de meat, an' he did not miss 
givin' us whiskey to drink, — a plenty of it, too. An' we 
'vite all de culled people aroun', an' dey come, an' wo 
had fine times. Our people was so good, and dey had 
so much. Dyar warn't no sich people no whyar. Mars- 
ter mus'n't be named de same day as udder people. 
Our people want to help de poor critters what didn't 
hab nuthin'; dey saved it up for dem. Marster 'lowed 
us to hab meetin', just as much meetin' as we choose. 
A heap o' people didn't let dey people hab meetin' ; 
didn't like for dem to visit an' see udder people. Mars- 
ter warn't dat way. We went 'bout. 



MAMMY HARRIETS RECOLLECTIONS. 59 

" 'Fore we got 'quainted at de Pass * marster used to 
tell brer Harrison to tik de carriage-horses an' put 'em 
to de wagon Sunday evenin's, an' drive we all out down 
de street, down town. Oh, we was big bugs in dem 
days, an' we sot up dyar in de wagon ; who but we ? 
An' we did hab nice times. And you chillun would 
say, ' I want to go with mammy, I want to go with 
mammy,' an' we would tik you little ones an' dress 
you up an' tik you 'long, too. An' afterwards, when 
we got 'quainted, de culled gent'mans would 'vite we 
all to de ice-cream an' things. An' marster made brei 
Harrison carry us dyar in de wagon. 'Twas 'bout a 
mile. An' we had cake, — currant cake, plain cake, dis 
here iced cake, — all kind o' nice things. An' how we 
did 'joy ourselves! An' do you 'member de green 
oranges, jes' turnin', dat Mrs. Henderson let her people 
gib to us ? Law, I did drink so much o' dat orangeade 
Sirs. Henderson was so good to her people. An' we 
used to go down dyar to de Pint, all dressed up an' set 
back on dem pleasurin' benches. Mrs. Henderson had 
a big watermillion patch ebery year, an' she let her 
people hab all dey want. An' dey cut a heap ov 'em 
for we all, an' we sot back on dem benches an' we eat 
jes' as long as we could. Oh, Pse been see good times! 

"An' de fish. Don't you 'member all de fish dat 
marster gib us ? On de first day always when we got 
to de Pass, marster stop at de fish-house, when we was 
passin' thro' de town, an' buy a gre't long string o' gre't 
big fish, — all sorts, croakers an' mullets an' all sorts, — 
so he hab to gib to 'em all. He say, ' Here, take these 
home an' cook them for your dinners, but don't make 
yourselves sick.' An' we did eat fish three times a 
day, an' sometimes four times. Your pa always buys 
de best ob ebery thing for us. Ebery mornin' he go 
out fishin' at de Pass in he canoe, an' he ketch 'bout 
half a bushel o' fish. Marster used to buy fine sweet 
potatoes for all his people in trabellin' to de Pass, an' 
at night he put he head out o' de tent an' say, ' Bev- 
erly, don't make yourself sick on potatoes, so that you 

* Pass Christian, on the Gulf of Mexico. 



60 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTED 

will not be able to travel in the morning.' An' BeMy 
say, 'Yes, sir.' An' all dat time he had a spiderful o' 
potatoes settin' by him, an' jes' as soon as he got thro' 
wid one spiderful he put anudder in de fire." 

This Beverly, who was one of the wagon-drivers, was 
a great favorite with my father. I have heard hint 
say, as Beverly's merry laughter sounded over field and 
wood, — for I never heard any laugh quite so careless 
or so astoundingly loud as this gay fellow's, — " Well, I 
do enjoy hearing that." The trip to the Pass was a 
gala time to Beverly, as to all the other servants who 
were taken, about nine or ten. The white family still 
recall with amusement the contest as to who could eat 
the greater number of fish on the day of the arrival at 
the Pass. Mammy Maria, one of our dear nui'ses, of 
whom much is said in these memorials, and her brother 
Beverly usually carried off" the palm, he having been 
known to eat at the first meal fourteen silver trout and 
she thirteen. 

" Oh, de Sundaj^s, when all de people dress up in dey 
finery, an' come thro' de gate, an' walk thro' de yard, 
an' pass by de porch whyar all de family was settin' ! 
How dey switch by! Don't you 'member Phoebe? 
She twis', she twis', an' she twis'. You see brer Aaron 
come down from Eaymond ebery Sadday, an' de nex' 
mornin' he say, ' Gals, lemme show you de steps de 
town ladies tik.' Den he put he hand 'hin' he back, 
an' he twis' heself, and we larf 'twell we cry. Dyar's 
whar Phoebe ketch de step. Brer Aaron was mighty 
funny. 

" We buy things at Christmas ef we choose, but ef 
we didn't choose to do dat, we had things. We was 
given flour an' sugar an' coff'ee an' butter an' whiskey 
an' things. De sick people call for anything dey want, 
any time, an' missis sont it to de quarters. 

"Joe Nelson was at de Pass, wukkin' on de house 
down dyar, an' my aunt. Grannie Harriet, ask marster 
to send for him, 'cause she want to see him. She 
'peared to know dat she was gwyne to die.* Marster 

* Joe was her adopted son. The Pass was two hundred miles from 
Burleigh. 



MAMMY HARRIETS RECOLLECTIONS. 61 

send for him right off, an' he hadn't been at home 
more dan three days 'fore grannie was struck wid 
paralysis. I was settin' wid her, and she was on de 
bed, an' she look mighty strange all on a sudden. I 
thought she was dyin'. I run to de house to missis. 
Marster was out in de fiel'. I tell missis dat I thought 
Grannie Harriet was dyin'. Missis put on her bonnet 
an' went to her jes' as fast as she could. When grannie 
see her she could not speak, but she hold out both arms 
to her. Missis run into her arms an' bust out cryin'. 
She put her arms roun' grannie's neck, an' grannie 
could not speak, but de big tears roll down her cheeks. 
An' so she die. 

" I often begged marster to let a funeral sermon be 
preached over grannie, but he always say, ' No, Harriet, 
I do not know anybody good enough to preach a sermon 
over her.' " 

I remember well the death of this aged servant. 
The master himself led the funeral procession, and all 
his children followed the coffin as mourners. He or- 
dered out the whole plantation, every one who could 
walk, and every man, woman, and child carried a 
torch. The sound of the mournful funeral hymn, and 
the blazing of the many torches, as we wound down 
the road to the dark shades of the burying-ground, 
made a painful impression on me as a child, and caused 
many a secret tear. I wished much to be excused 
from going to the funeral ; but the master seemed un- 
approachable in his grief, and I was afraid of in- 
curring his displeasure if he should discover that I was 
unwilling to pay what he considered fitting respect to 
the memory of this trusted friend. 

His mother had given her to him with the words, 
" You can trust her in everything. She has never told 
me an untruth or even prevaricated in her life." 

It is recorded of Grannie Harriet that when the 
wagons drew up at the new home place on the Bur- 
leigh plantation, and she looked around at the rude ac- 
commodations, she asked, "And is dis what my marster 
left Gloucester for ?" 

The master ever treated her as a member of the 



62 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

family. His daily habit on his return from the fields 
at mid-day was to dismount at her gate and to sit 
laughing and talking with her for a half-hour. He 
consulted her about his plantation affairs as he did no 
one else, and her judgment was so sound that he relied 
on it. He missed her much after her death. No one 
ever filled her place with him either as adviser or 
friend. Our childish associations with Grannie Harriet 
were delightful. She petted and spoiled us to our 
hearts' content, and could not bear to have any fault 
found with us. 

Especially at Christmas did we delight in going to 
her to beg for cake and other dainties. Mamma took 
care that she should have a good store on hand; and 
we, who knew nothing of this, praised grannie's 
things, and found them ever so much nicer than any- 
thing to be gotten at the " great house." 

Sometimes we were allowed, as a very gi'eat treat, to 
wrap up in sheets and go to grannie's house to frighten 
her. Her feigned terror at the sight of the band of 
little ghosts filled us with rapture, only equalled by 
that we felt when, on suddenly dropping the sheets, we 
heard grannie's exclamation of astonishment that the 
master's children were playing such pranks on her. 

She lived alone. We were not allowed to visit anj 
of the other servants with such freedom. Her master 
said that he would be proud to hang her portrait in his 
drawing-room, in such esteem and affection did he hold 
her. 

Owing to the delay with the sick horse, which was 
at the time looked on as an unmixed evil, the travellers 
did not reach the Mississippi plantation till two weeks 
later than had been calculated on. When they got 
there they found that the log houses in which they had 
expected to find shelter till better could be provided had 
boon completely demolished hy a cyclone. They were 
but a heap of timbers l.ying on the ground. Had they 
reached this place at the time set for their arrival they 
wolH have been in these houses, and could scarcely 
have escaped with their lives, for the cyclone had 
paaned over in the night. 



MAMMY HARRIET'S RECOLLECTIONS. 63 

Thomas looked at the wreck and remembeied 
his annoyance at the delay to which, under Provi- 
dence, he owed their safety. The scene made an im- 
pression that was life-long. It influenced his character. 
It gave him a belief in a special Providence that was 
ever afterwards unshaken. His trust in the wisdom 
and goodness of God was from that hour so strong 
that he never for a moment doubted it. Under no cir- 
cumstances was a murmur or anything approaching to 
it ever heard to escape his lips. Not even by a wish 
would he imply that he could desire the decrees of 
Providence altered. 

One of the farmers whose lands he had bought, and 
who had not yet moved out of his house, was able to 
spare a few rooms for the white families, and the mar- 
quees were pitched for the negroes. All hands were 
set to work to build houses. 

In selecting his plantation, Thomas showed his usual 
sound judgment in practical matters. It comprised 
four thousand acres in a compact body, not all bought 
at one time, but as he saw opportunity to secure the 
property of small farmers whose land adjoined his. 
In this way he shaped his place to suit himself; and it 
was characteristic of his exact methods that after 
making his final purchase the section lines fell so as to 
form an almost exact square, with Tallahala Creek 
crossing it diagonally from northeast to southwest. 
The lowland bordering the creek, called "The Bottom," 
was inexhaustibly fertile, and ensured heavy crops in 
the dryest season. From the creek-bottom the land 
gradually rises and runs back in a series of hills and 
plateaus. Those not already cleared for cultivation 
were covered with a magnificent growth of timber, — 
oaks of many species, yellow pine, "hickory, elm, sweet- 
and black-gum, besides countless other trees and shrubs 
of less value. Walnut-trees of magnificent size, mag- 
noha, beech, and laurel grew on the banks of the creek. 

Crops raised on the hills flourished best in wet 
weather; so with the admirable diversity of soil on the 
plantation there was never a failure of a whole crop in 
the most unfavorable season. 



64 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

The land was well watered throughout by Tallahala 
Creek, with its tributary branches, Indian efumper and 
Snake Creek, and a number of smaller bayous. In 
the hills springs bubbled out, giving rise to spring 
''branches," which did not go dry in the most pro- 
longed drought. There was always pasturage for 
cattle along these water-courses, and in the bitterest 
cold of winter they found abundant green food in the 
canebrakes of the creek. In this mild climate many 
wild flowers adorn the fields and woods till late in the 
fall. Tiny blue innocents dot the grass as early as 
January. Later come wild violets, roses, the wild lily, 
rhododendron, clematis, woodbine, snap-dragon, and a 
host of flowering trees, shrubs, and vines. Among these 
we find the red-bud, maple, dogwood, crab-apple, haw- 
thorn, and wild peach ; but supreme in beauty and in 
fragi-ance we have the yellow jasmine. It is the crown 
and glory of Southern woods, throwing its drapery of 
golden bells over trees and shrubs for whole acres. 

It was Thomas's plan in the management of this 
large estate to bring under cultivation a certain portion 
of new land every year. His rule was to clear one hun- 
dred acres each season. The cotton-plant delights in 
a virgin soil, and he counted on making a bale and a 
half of cotton to the acre on all new ground. This 
was, of course, above the average. In the hill country 
a planter thinks himself rewarded for his labor by an 
average jield of half a bale to the acre. Thomas one 
year made six hundred bales on six hundred acres, but 
that was an exceptional season. The fact that this 
place would be as productive now as ever with the same 
cultivation goes to show how well the land lies, and 
how wise Thomas was in the choice of his plantation. 



EARLY DAYS IN MISSISSIPPI. 65 

CHAPTER Y. 

EARLY DATS IN MISSISSIPPI. 

In entering on this pioneer life many diflSculties had 
to be met that were a new experience to people comino- 
from lower Yirginia. One of the first was the una° 
voidable delay in getting supplies of meat for the ser- 
vants. For two weeks after their arrival they had 
none. Sophia's sister Emmeline, Mrs. Lewis Smith, 
was so conscientious that she refused during this period 
to touch a morsel of meat, although the supply on hand 
was ample to last the white famihes till more could be 
procured. 

The roof of the house in which Thomas had to put 
his wife and children was so leaky, that he had some- 
times at night when it rained to sit up in bed and hold 
an umbrella over her and the baby. 

There were then no railroads, and the cotton crop 
had to be hauled in wagons forty miles, to Grand Gulf. 
The roads were so bad that to trust the teams to negro- 
drivers alone was not to be thought of, and the master 
went with every wagon. 

Not more than a quarter of a mile from Thomas's 
home, in those early days in Mississippi, lived a man 
named Jack Cotton. He was one of a band of high- 
waymen who infested the road from Yicksburg to 
Memphis. Their practice was to waylay planters and 
rob them on their return from selling their cotton. 
Jack Cotton's house was a half-way station and a ren- 
dezvous for the band. Jack was civil to the new 
neighbors, and they were ignorant of his reputation 
as a desperado till he ran away to Texas to escape the 
law. 

There was no doctor or church nearer than Raymond, 

which was ten miles from Burleigh. The country people 

around the plantation, seeing that Thomas knew how 

to take care of his servants, began to send for him 

e Q* 



66 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

whtn they were sick. He was so successful that hia 
reputation grew more than was convenient. They had 
a way of sending for him at night that was specially 
disagreeable, and he had finally to refuse to make night 
calls. One day he was summoned to attend a woman 
who was about to die, the messenger said. When 
Thomas reached the house, he saw tied to the fence and 
to trees horses with men's saddles and horses with side- 
saddles, and on the little porch were men, women, and 
children, evidently a gathering of the sick woman's 
clan. One woman, sitting in the sick-chamber, was 
rocking her baby crosswise on the plank floor. Alto- 
gether the hubbub was something distracting. The 
patient herself was in a highly nervous state. The 
husband explained that she had not been able to sleep 
for one or two days and nights. Thomas's advice was 
that every man, woman, and child should be sent away. 
It was acted on at once. " Folks, the doctor says you 
must all go home," the man called out from the door. 

In a few minutes they were unhitching their horses 
and getting away as fast as they could. As soon as all 
was quiet, a soothing potion was given to the suff'erer. 
The next morning the news came to " the doctor" that 
she had slept all night and was a great deal better, and 
not at all in danger of dying. 

A disease called black tongue appeared among the 
negroes at Burleigh at one time ; very soon forty of 
them had their tongues protruding from their mouths, 
swollen and cracked open. The doctors were losing so 
many cases, for the disease was epidemic in the coun- 
try, that Thomas resolved not to send for a physician. 
He made a careful study of the symptoms, and observed 
that the vital powers were strongly taxed and the sys- 
tem run down very low. Not knowing what medicine 
would check the disease, he resolved to give none, but 
to build up the system with stimulants and nourishing 
food, leaving to the recuperative power of nature to 
pull his patients through. A liberal use of port wine 
and mutton-chops (such chops ! I never saw their like 
elsewhere) justified his hopes and expectations. He 
did not lose a case. 



EARLY DAYS IN MISSISSIPPI. 67 

Thomas was misunderstood and misjudged by the 
people in Mississippi by whom he found himself sur- 
rounded. The plainer classes in Virginia, like those in 
England, from whom they were descended, recognized 
the difference between themselves and the higher 
classes, and did not aspire to social equality. But in 
Mississippi the tone was different. They resented any- 
thing like superiority in breeding. 

Thomas Dabney was considered cold and haughty. 
It took them long years to find out that he was a true 
friend to the poor. As years passed on they learned to 
look on him as one to be relied on, not only for sub- 
stantial help but for sympathy. Under the look of 
stern dignity the heart was tender and compassionate 
as a woman's. 

It was the custom among the small farmers in his 
neighborhood to call on each other to assist when one 
of them built his house, usually a log structure. Ac- 
cordingly, one day an invitation came to the new-comer 
to help a neighbor to " raise" his house. At the ap- 
pointed time he went over with twenty of his men, 
and he did not leave till the last log was in place and 
the last board nailed on the roof, handing over the sim- 
ple cabin quite completed to the owner. This action, 
which seemed so natural to him, was a serious offence 
to the recipient, and, to his regret, he was sent for to 
no more " house-raisings." On another occasion, a 
small farmer living a few miles from him got " in the 
grass," as the country people express it when the grass 
has gotten ahead of the young cotton-plants and there 
is danger of their being choked by it. Again Thomas 
went over with twenty men, and in a few hours the 
field was brought to perfect order. The man said that 
if Colonel Dabney had taken hold of a plough and 
worked by his side he would have been glad to have 
his help, but to see him sitting up on his horse with 
his gloves on directing his negroes how to work was 
not to his taste. He heard a long time after these oc- 
currences that he could have soothed their wounded 
pride if he had asked them to come over to help him 
to raise his cabins. But he could not bring himself to 



68 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

call on two or three poor white men to work among 
his servants when he had no need of help. 

Another neighbor he found more grateful. This man 
was very sick during the season when his field should 
have been ploughed. His wife and only servant were 
quite taken up with nursing him. One day they heard 
the voices of workers in their field, and, on looking out, 
recognized Colonel Dabney and his servants. He had 
heard of the trouble, and had ordered his men to go to 
this place with their mules and ploughs, and to put 
everything in order for the crop, not failing to take 
their dinners along. The man got well, and he and his 
wife and children were life-long friends to the family at 
Burleigh. 

A young doctor moving to the neighborhood said in 
his hearing that he found it difficult to buy corn. 
Thomas made no comment, but the next morning the 
doctor saw a six-mule wagon at his gate. The driver, 
whom he recognized as a Burleigh negro, asked where 
the corn should be stowed away. He showed him his 
corn-crib, and a day or two after, meeting Thomas, 
asked what he owed for the corn. " Oh, nothing," was 
the answer ; " I do not charge a neighbor for a wagon- 
load of corn." This incident is hardly worth mention- 
ing were it not that little things make up a man's life 
and show the spirit. 

His plantation was considered a model one, and was 
visited by planters anxious to learn his methods. He 
was asked how he made his negroes do good work. 
His answer was that a laboring man could do more 
work and better work in five and a half days than in 
six. He used to give the half of Saturdays to his 
negroes, unless there was a great press of work ; but a 
system of rewards was more efficacious than any other 
method. He distributed prizes of money among his 
cotton-pickers every week during the season, which 
lasted four or five months. One dollar was the first 
prize, a Mexican coin valued at eighty-seven and a half 
cents the second, seventy -five cents the third, and so on, 
down to the smallest prize, a small Mexican coin called 
picayune, which was valued at six and a quarter cents 



EARLY DAYS IN MISSISSIPPI. 69 

The decimal nomenclature was not in use there. The 
coins were spoken of as " bits." Eighty-seven and a 
half cents were seven bits, fifty cents four bits, twenty- 
five cents two bits. The master gave money to all who 
worked well for the prizes, whether they won them or 
not. When one person picked six hundred pounds in 
a day, a five-dollar gold-piece was the reward. On most 
other plantations four hundred pounds or three hundred 
and fifty or three hundred was considered a good day's 
work, but on the Burleigh place many picked five 
hundred pounds. All had to be picked free of trash. 
ISTo one could do this who had not been trained in 
childhood. To get five hundred pounds a picker had 
to use both hands at once. Those who went into the 
cotton-fields after they were grown only knew how to 
pull out cotton by holding on to the stalk with one 
hand and picking it out with the other. Two hundred 
pounds a day would be a liberal estimate of what the 
most industrious could do in this manner. A very tall 
and lithe young woman, one of mammy's " brer Billy's" 
children, was the best cotton-picker at Burleigh. She 
picked two rows at a time, going down the middle with 
both arms extended and grasping the cotton-bolls with 
each hand. Some of the younger generation learned 
to imitate this. At Christmas Nelly's share of the 
prize-money was something over seventeen dollars. 
Her pride in going up to the master's desk to receive 
it, in the presence of the assembled negroes, as the ac- 
knowledged leader of the cotton-pickers, was a matter 
of as great interest to the white family as to her own 
race. 

The negroes were helped in every way to gather the 
cotton, not being interrupted or broken down by any 
other work. Some of the men were detailed to carry 
the cotton-hampers to the wagons that the pickers 
might lift no weights. Water-carriers, with buckets 
of fresh water, went up and down the rows handing 
water to the pickers. They would get so interested 
and excited over the work that they had to be made 
to leave the fields at night, some of the very ambitious 
ones wishing to sleep at the end of their rows, that 



70 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

they might be up and at work in the morning earliei 
than their rivals. The cotton was weighed three times 
a day, and the number of pounds picked by each ser- 
vant set down opposite to his or her name on a slate. 
Quite a remarkable feat of memory was exhibited by 
one of the negro men one day in connection with this. 
His duty was to help the overseer to weigh the cotton. 
One da}" the slate was caught in a rain and the figures 
were obliterated. This man came that night to the 
master's desk and gave from memory every record on 
the slate, the morning, mid-day, and evening weights 
of each picker. The negroes stood near enough to 
hear if he had made a mistake in any man's figures. 
It was the more remarkable as he could not have ex- 
pected to be called on to do this. In addition to the 
cotton crop, corn was raised in such abundance that it 
was not an unusual thing to sell a surplus of a thousand 
or two bushels or more. A maxim with the master 
was that no animal grew fat on bought corn. In 
putting in his corn crop he made full allowance for 
a bad season, hence there was never a scarcity. A 
lock on a corn-crib was not known. After the mules 
and horses were fed in the evening the negroes carried 
home all that they cared to have. They raised chickens 
by the hundred. One of the chicken-raisers, old Uncle 
Isaac, estimated that he raised five hundred, unless the 
season was bad. Uncle Isaac's boast was that he was 
a child of the same year as the master, and that the 
master's mother had given to him in her own arms 
some of the baby Thomas's milk, as there was more of 
it than he wanted. He would draw himself up as he 
added, " I called marster brother till I was a right big 
boy, an' I called his mother ma till I was old enough 
to know better an' to stop it myself. She never tole 
me to stop." 

The negroes sold all the chickens they did not eat. 
They were taken to Eaymond or Cooper's Well in a 
four-mule wagon, provided by the master. As he paid 
the market price, and as there was some risk of their 
getting less than he gave, there was not often a desire 
to send them off if he would take them. And he had 



EARLY DAYS IN MISSISSIPPI. 71 

need to buy all he used after the death of our faithful 
Granny Harriet. Different servants were given the 
care of the poultry, and all failed so signally that Aunt 
Kitty, who was renowned for success in her own 
poultry-yard, was placed in charge. She was given a)I 
the conveniences and facilities she asked for,— chicken 
houses, coops, and separate enclosures for youno; 
chickens. The result of all this outlay was not a 
chicken the first year, and only one the second. The 
history of that one deserves to be recorded. It was 
hatched out in the hedge and raised by its mother hen 
without the aid of our accomplished hen hussy. 

The thrifty negroes made so much on their chickens, 
peanuts, popcorn, molasses-cakes, baskets, mats, brooms,' 
taking in sewing, and in other little ways, that they 
were able to buy luxuries. Some of the women bought 
silk dresses ; many had their Sunday dresses made%y 
white mantua-makers. Of course they had the clothes 
of the master and mistress in addition; and in later 
years, as the house grew full of young masters and 
young mistresses, theirs were added. As the family 
knew that the servants liked nothing so well as the 
well-made clothes that they laid aside, they wore their 
clothes but Kttle. They justly considered that those 
who had labored for them had rights to them while 
still fresh. Under these circumstances it did not seem 
wasteful for a daughter of the house to distribute, at 
the end of a season, as many as a dozen or more dresses 
that had been made up but a few months before. It 
was quite funny to see among the gallants three or foui 
swallow-tail coats of the master's come in at the gale 
for the grand promenade on Sunday evenings, escorting 
the colored belles in all their bravery of hoop-skirts, 
and ruffles, and ribbons, and flowers. Mammy Harriet 
gives me this account of the management at Burleio-h ; 

'^' De men had twelve pounds o' meat ebery two weeks 
an' de women ten pounds. Vine}-, my brer Billy's 
daughter, had as much as a man. You see she was a 
hearty eater. An' dey had 'lasses too 'cordin' to dey 
famblys, — a water-bucketful. Den some on 'em let dey 
meat gin out an' come for mo'. Marster git 'em mo 



72 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

meat out o' de house, an' den he go out to de smoke- 
house an' cut mo'. I hab soe marster out in de fiel' after 
breakfast an' Headman Charles say to him, 'Marster, 
some o' dese people ain't got nothin' to eat.' Den he 
ride back an' hab a bushel o' meal sifted, an' git a piece 
o' meat, an' tie up de salt, an' ride back an' say, 
' Charles, let those fellows get a plenty of oak bark 
and cook these things. Here is a plenty of meat and 
meal and salt.' Den dey sot on sometimes a dozen 
pots an' bile water to make up all dat bread. 

" Dj'ar warn't no chile born on dat place widdout no 
clo'es to put on. Missis had 'em made in de house. I 
know I myself mik' clo'es for Nell}^ chile, eben to de 
bonnet. I mik' de bonnet out o' a piece o' missis dress. 
She gib five pieces to ebery chile at a time. She had 
two made in de house, de udder three she say, ' Make 
yourself You ought to know how to sew for yourself.' 

"Ebey udder Sunday was draw day. Dey draw de 
meat an' missis lay aside all her clo'es an' her chillun 
clo'es to gib 'way, — a pile on 'em. She sa}^, ' Maria, 
send the servants to me in the house,' an' she gib de 
clo'es to 'em. I heard her say to marster one day, 
' There is a beggar-woman here.' ' Well, have you 
something to give her?' 'No; I have too many ser- 
vants to give my clothes to beggars. Give her some 
money.' He say, 'Yery well.' An' he gib de 'oman 
money. She nebljer 'fused her people nuthin' ; nobody 
warn't 'fear'd to ask her for anything." 

One day a great lubberly, stupid negro woman stalked 
into her room and said, " Missis, gib me a dress." The 
woman was uncouth and rude. The little girl sitting 
with her mother saw her get up at once and hand a 
pretty woollen dress to the woman. " She did not even 
thank you," the child objected, when the negro had 
gone out. "And don't it teach her to beg to give her 
the dress when she asks for it?" Time has not oblit- 
erated the memory of the gentle rebuke. " Poor thing, 
she has no one to teach her manners, and she has so 
little sense, and no one to ask for anj'thing but me. I 
was very glad, indeed, that she came and asked me foi 
something"" 



EARLF BAYS JN MISSISSIPPI. 73 

For some years the master accompanied every wagon 
loaded with cotton that went to marl^et from his plan- 
tation. He slept on these journeys under the wagons, 
and sometimes on awakening in the morning he found 
that his great-coat, in which he was wrapped, was 
frozen hard to the ground. His negro drivers were 
more heavily clad than himself, each one being pro- 
vided with a thick woollen great-coat that reached to 
his heels, home-knit woollen socks and gloves, and an 
enormous comforter for the neck. No illness resulted 
from the exposure. In the morning a hot meal, cooked 
by one of the negroes — and all the race are admirable 
cooks — was shared by the master and his men. 

Until over seventy years old, he was singularly in- 
different to cold or heat, or to discomforts of any sort. 
But he felt compassion for his negroes. He knew that 
the warm African blood in their veins was not fitted to 
endure what he could stand. He never regarded the 
weather for himself, but was very careful about send- 
ing them out in bad weather, and never did it unless it 
seemed a necessity. On such occasions he wore an 
anxious look, and said that he could not go to bed un- 
til his servants had gotten home safely. They were 
always sure of finding a hot fire and a warm drink 
ready for them on their return. 

Every other year he distributed blankets on the plan- 
tation, giving one apiece to each individual. Many of 
the families were large, and as the fathers would move 
off under a load of twelve or fourteen blankets, some, 
whose quivers were less full, would be heard to exclaim 
over the good fortune of the lucky ones. There were 
usually a dozen or so left over in these distributions, 
and they were thrown in for good measure to those who 
had the large families. "Poor things, they have so 
many children," seemed to my dear mother a sufficient 
explanation for special favors that she often bestowed 
on those who had no other claim. Some of the negro 
men with the big families of children had a funny little 
affectation of feii^ning not to know either the names or 
the number of their boys and girls. " I disremember, 
missis, dyar's so many on 'em," with a little pleased 
D " 7 



74 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

laugh, was considered a sufficient answer to inquiries 
on the subject on every-day occasions. But not so on 
the days when blankets were to be given out. Then 
their memories were fresh. Then the babies that had 
not been in their cradles more than a few daj^s, mayhap 
hours, were remembered and mentioned in due turn, 
with no danger of being forgotten or overlooked be- 
cause there were " so many on 'em." 

In addition to the blankets, comforts were quilted in 
the house by the seamstresses for every woman who 
had a young baby. The every-day clothes of all the 
negroes were cut out and made in the house ; two com- 
plete woollen suits for winter and two cotton ones for 
summer. For Sundays, a bright calico dress was given 
to each woman. The thrifty ones, and, with scarcely 
an exception, these negroes were thrifty, had more 
than they needed, and the clothes were in their chests 
a year before they were put on. The woollen socks and 
stockings for both men and women were knit in the 
cabins by old women, and in the "great house" by 
young girls. These last were set a task by the mis- 
tress, with the privilege of holiday the rest of the day 
when it was done. This had the desired effect of mak- 
ing them quick and industrious, and so interested that 
they would be at their work betimes in the morning. 
The clever ones sometimes get through with the allotted 
task before breakfast. 

On rainy days all the plantation women were brought 
into the house. Then Mammy Maria, who was in her 
way a field-marshal on such occasions, gave out the 
work and taught them to sew. By word and action she 
stimulated and urged them on, until there was not on the 
Burleigh plantation a woman who could not make and 
mend neatly her own and her husband's and children's 
clothes. 

Poor mammy ! She dreaded these days of teaching 
and worrying over her big scholars. It gave her the 
headache, she said : some seemed so hopelessly dull and 
stupid and lazy, — so unlike herself Hers was a case 
both of greatness thrust upon one and of greatness 
achieved. She had grown up at my mother's feet, 



EARLY DAYS IN MISSISSIPPI. 75 

having been about her ever since she could remember, 
and had come to love the white family better than her 
own blood and race. She resented their being deceived 
and imposed on by her fellow-servants, and did not fail 
to inform them when such was the case. This confi- 
dence was considered as sacred, but of course it grew 
to be known that Mammy Maria was a " white folks' 
servant." 

She was far more severe in her judgment of misde^ 
meanors than the master and mistress. The place that 
she had made for herself was one that would, in a char- 
acter less true and strong, have brought on herself the 
hatred and the distrust of her race. But they knew 
her to be just, one who never assailed the innocent, 
and with so warm and compassionate a heart in real 
trouble that none were afraid to come to her. From 
being a confidential servant she grew into being a kind 
of prime minister, and it was well known that if she 
espoused a cause and took it to the master it was sure 
to be attended to at once, and according to her advice. 

Her independence and fearlessness in the discharge 
of her duty, both to the master and to her fellow- 
servants, won for her the affection and esteem of both. 
In consequence of her popularity with her own color, 
her namesakes became so numerous that the master 
had to forbid any further increase of them, on account 
of the confusion to which it gave rise. This her ad- 
mirers evaded by having the babies christened Maria, 
and another name adopted for every-day use. 

My brave, good mammy! Who that knew thee in 
these days, when thy heart was gay and bold as a 
young soldier's, could think that the time would come 
when that faithful heart would break for the love of 
thy old master 1 



76 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 
CHAPTER YI. 

PLANTATION MANAGEMENT. 

Thomas owned more negroes than could work with 
advantage on on^e place. He was advised to put a 
part on a second plantation, but he refused to let 
a consideration of profit induce him to place his ser- 
vants where he could not personally attend to their 
welfare. All the negroes were encouraged to come 
freely to the house to see the master and mistress, and 
they were very fond of making visits there, even when 
there was nothing more important to say than to ask 
after the young masters off at college, and to send 
their how-d'ye to them. They had their favorites 
among the growing-up sons and daughters, and chose 
their future owners, and spoke of themselves as belong- 
ing to the ones selected. It was a great grief to those 
who had chosen Charles Dabney when he was cut off 
at the threshold of his life, and I never heard of their 
making a second choice. 

The master and mistress taught the negroes truthful- 
ness and honesty, as they taught their own children, by 
not tempting them, and by trusting them. It was a 
maxim with the master that it made a child honest and 
truthful to believe its word. He was by nature so un- 
suspicious that it required no effort to carry this out 
in his daily life. 

On one occasion one of his daughters was at a recep- 
tion in New York given to the House of Bishops. The 
honored guest of the evening was that great mission- 
ary. Bishop Selwyn, of Litchfield, who had come over 
from England to our Ceneral Convention. Among 
other subjects the dishonesty of the negro race was 
discussed, and some one asked if all negroes were 
thieves. Thomas Dabney's daughter felt diffident 
about speaking, but she regretted afterwards that she 
had not said that a very large proportion of her father's 



PLANTATION MANAGEMENT. 77 

negroes could be trusted to any extent. The inter- 
rogator had probably confounded negroes who were 
trusted with those who were not. The confidence 
shown in them by the heads of her Southern home had 
taught the negroes so much self-respect that a thor- 
oughly thievish negro was put under the ban in his 
own little world. Thomas had the control of about 
five hundred of them. About two hundred were his 
own, and on the Burleigh plantation. The others be- 
longed to his wards, and were nearly all family negroes, 
closely related to his, and living on neighboring "plan- 
tations. He had the management of four estates be- 
longing to minors. It was a saying in the family that 
the estates of his wards were better managed than his 
own, and their property increased faster than his. 
"Of course, I put the best overseers on their planta- 
tions," he said. "You see, I am here to look after 
my own." The negroes of these came to him as to 
their master, and he treated them as his own. 

He bought a cook, one of his mother's negroes, after 
he went to Mississippi, at the same time making the 
arrangement to buy her husband. For some reason 
both did not go out together. A cook was always a 
belle on a plantation, and this young Alcey soon had 
all the unmarried men at her feet, among others a 
young fellow named Bob. One Sunday evening, as tho 
rival suitors were sitting with her. Bob, who was 
thought to be a favored one, got his jawbone caught 
back in an unfortunate yawn, and spent several hours 
speechless, with his mouth wide open, while a mes- 
senger was despatched for the doctor. But this did 
not seem to disillusionize the object of his addresses, for 
she wrote a letter to her husband in Yirginia that 
quite decided him not to join her. He also, it was 
said, had been casting his eyes around for a more con- 
genial mate. When Mrs. Chamberlayne spoke to 
him of going out to Mississippi, he answered that 
Alcey had given him an account in a letter of the 
terrible ocean that had to be gone over on the way. 
Mrs. Chamberlayne said that if a woman could stanch 
the journey a strong man certainly could. " Yes, Miss 

7* 



78 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Marthy, but Alcey know more 'bout dem mysteries 
dan I does." 

When Alcey was spoken to on the subject, she said, 
" Tell marster not to bother 'bout sendin' for him. He 
lazy an' puny an' no 'count." Bob's charms had tri- 
umphed. 

On wedding occasions, in addition to the materials for 
a cake, the bride always expected a good many gifts, 
and some of the master's family to be present. The 
mistress's big pra^^er-book was taken over, and the 
marriage service read by one of the young masters. 
They would not be satisfied unless the bride and the 
cake were duly complimented. The children of the 
house-servants were married in the dining-room at 
Burleigh, and it was a saying in the family that these 
turned out to be happy marriages. 

At one of the weddings the bridegroom did not re- 
spond when his time came. "Solomon," said the young 
master, " say thou wilt." " Thou wilt," repeated Solo- 
mon, in his most solemn voice. The marriage ceremony 
went on. 

"Courtenay, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded 
husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the 
holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and 
serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and 
in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto 
him, so long as ye both shall live?" 

" I does," responded the bride. 

The nurse who took care of the women when their 
babies were born received a fee each time. The mothers 
themselves looked on these seasons as gala times. They 
were provided with flour, sugar, dried fruit, and often 
meals from the table, and a woman to do all their cook- 
ing, washing, and house-work for a month. During 
the rest of the year they did little more than take care 
of the babies. Their cabins were clean and orderly, 
their beds gay with bright quilts, and often the pillows 
were snowy enough to tempt any head. 

When we children were allowed to go to see some 
of the servants, they delighted in setting out a little 
feast. If they had nothing else, we were not allowed 



PLANTATION MANAGEMENT. 79 

to go without a new-laid Qgg or two. Once at Christ- 
mas Mammy Harriet gave a " high tea" to us children. 
I was at that time about fourteen years of age, the oldest 
of the invited. A friend of my own age, Arabella Foote, 
the youngest daughter of Henry S. Foote (Governor 
and United States Senator), was spending her Christ- 
mas holidays with me. Mammy felt some modesty 
about inviting the young lady into her house, but I 
took Arabella, and she enjoyed it as much as any of us. 
Mammy had made a nice cake and hot biscuits and tea 
for the occasion, set out in her choicest cups, some of 
rare old china, and with sugar in the sugar-bowl that 
she had inherited from her mother. She gave us be- 
sides, sweetmeats, nuts, raisins, fruits of several kinds, 
—indeed, a delightful tea. And she stood behind us 
waiting on the table, her bright bandanna kerchief 
towering aloft on her head, and she looking so pleased. 

The children delighted in teaching the house-servants. 
One night the whole family were formally invited, the 
master, mistress, governess, and guests, by a twelve- 
year-old school-mistress to hear her pupils recite poetry. 
She had about a dozen of the maids, old and young, 
Mammy Maria among them. One of the guests was 
quite astonished to see his own servant, whom he had 
with him spending several months at Burleigh, get up 
and recite a piece of poetry that had been learned with 
pains for this occasion. 

Some of the sons taught those of the plantation 
negroes who cared to learn, but very few were willing 
to take the trouble to study. Yirginius was successful 
with his scholars. Five of them learned to read so 
well that they became, preachers. For this service 
he got one dozen eggs a month ; or occasionally in lieu 
of this he received a pullet at the end of two months. 
He taught in the kitchen by the light of pine torches. 
His method of enforcing discipline on these middle- 
aged men was truly ludicrous. As his tutor, being one 
of the old-fashioned sort, did not spare the rod in the 
morning, so at night Yirginius belabored the backs of 
his sturdy fellows. His beatings were received with 
shouts of laughter, the whole school would be in an 



80 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

uproar, the scholars dodging about to escape the young 
pedagogue's stick, and the cook and other on-lookera 
roaring with laughter. One of his graduates asked his 
advice as to a course of reading, suggesting history as 
the branch that he wished to pursue. The youthful 
teacher promptly advised "Eobinson Crusoe," and lent 
his own handsome copy to this promising pupil. After 
reading one hundred pages Joe came to him and said, 
" Mars Yirginius, did you say dat book was history ?" 
Virginius explained as well as he could what fiction 
was, on which Joe said, " I bin mistrustin' all 'long dat 
some o' de things what Eobinson Crusoe say warn't 
true." 

With negro slaves it seemed impossible for one of 
them to do a thing, it mattered not how insignificant, 
without the assistance of one or two others. It was 
often said with a laugh by their owners that it took 
two to help one to do nothing. It required a whole 
afternoon for Joe, the aspirant for historical knowledge, 
and another able-bodied man like himself, to butcher a 
sheep. On a plantation the work of the women and 
children, and of some of the men also, amounted to so 
little that but small effort was made to utilize it. Of 
course, some kind of occupation had to be devised to 
keep them employed a part of the time. But it was 
very laborious to find easy work for a large body of 
inefficient and lazy people, and at Burleigh the struggle 
was given up in manj^ cases. The different departments 
would have been more easily and better managed if 
there had been fewer to work. Sometimes a friend 
would say to the master that he made smaller crops 
than his negroes ought to make. His reply was that 
he did not desire them to do all that they could. 

The cook at Burleigh had always a scullion or two 
to help her, besides a man to cut her wood and put it 
on the huge andirons.* The scullions brought the 

* The cook's husband, who for years had looked on himself as nearly 
blind, and therefore unable to do more than work about her, and put her 
wood on the fire, sometimes cutting a stick or two, made no less than 
eighteen good crops for himself when the war was over. He was one of 
the best farmers in the country. S. D. S. 



PLANTATION MANAGEMENT. 81 

water and prepared the vegetables, and made them- 
selves generally useful. The vegetables were gathered 
and brought from the garden by the gardener, or by 
one of the half-dozen women whom he frequently had 
to help him. A second cook made the desserts, sweet- 
meats, etc. As children, we thought that the main 
business of the head cook was to scold the scullion and 
ourselves, and to pin a dish-rag to us if we ventured 
into her kitchen. Four women and a boy were in 
charge of the dairy. As the cows sometimes wandered 
to pastures several miles away, this number did not 
seem excessive. The boy brought the cows up, some- 
times with one of the women to help him. Two of the 
women milked ; the third held the semi-sinecure office, 
taking charge of the milk ; and the fourth churned. 

There were no blooded cattle on the plantation for 
many years, bub thirty cows in the cowpen gave all the 
milk and butter that was needed for the house and 
plantation, and a good deal of butter was sold. The 
pastures were so good that the cattle increased rapidly 
and were sold, a hundred at a time. Southdown sheep 
were imported from Kentucky and pigs from England. 
Everything looked well and fat at Burleigh. The mas- 
ter was amused on being asked by a neighboring farmer 
if he would let him have some of his curly-tailed breed 
of pigs. The man innocently added that he noticed 
they were always fat, not knowing, as Thomas used to 
say, in repeating this, that corn would make the 
straightest tail curl. His beeves were fattened two 
years, after they had worked two years as oxen to make 
the flesh firm. One year they ran in the corn-field be- 
fore the corn was gathered, and the next they were 
Btalled. As all the oxen were fattened for beeves after 
two years of work, no old ox was on the place. He 
killed every winter eight or ten of these stalled oxen. 
The stalled sheep were so fat that they sometimes died 
of suffocation.* 

*"It was just one week before Christmas. . . . The stall-fed ox 
nodded over his trough ; the broad-backed Southdowns clustered to- 
gether in a corner of their shed, basked in the sun and awaited a return 
of appetite; a remnant of sturdy porkers, left over from the November 

/ 



82 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

One day, on the occasion of a large dinner, the mastei 
was hastily summoned to the kitchen, to see there a 
huge saddle of Southdown mutton that had by its own 
weight torn itself from the big kitchen spit, and was 
lying in the basting-pan. 

During the spring and summer lambs were butchered 
twice a week, or oftener if required. That did not keep 
down the flock sufficiently, and a great many were 
sold. The hides from the beeves almost supplied the 
plantation with shoes. Two of the negro men were 
tanners and shoemakers. A Southern plantation, well 
managed, had nearly everything necessary to life done 
within its bounds. At Burleigh there were two car- 
penters in the carpenter-shop, two blacksmiths in the 
blacksmith-shop, two millers in the mill, and usually 
five seamstresses in the house. In the laundry there 
were two of the strongest and most capable women on 
the plantation, and they were perhaps the busiest of 
the corps of house-servants. Boys were kept about, 
ready to ride for the mail or to take notes around the 
neighborhood. There was no lack of numbers to fill 
every place ; the trouble was rather to find work for 
supernumeraries, as already intimated. 

One of the overseers, who was ambitious to put in a 
large crop, begged to have some of these hangers-on 

killing, that blinked at you from out their warm beds, and grunted when 
requested to rise, suggested sausage j while over on Charley's farm, and 
under Aunt Sucky's able management, aldermanic turkeys, and sleek, 
plump pullets, and ducks, quacking low from very fatness, and geese that 
had ceased to wrangle, — all thought themselves, like man before Coper- 
nicus, the centre of the universe. . . . 

"And can you not detect the odor of apples issuing even from that 
locked door? There are great piles of them stowed away there; and 
cider, I suspect, is not lacking. And above, the store-room showed 
shelves weighed down, since the arrival of the last steamer, with such 
things as Elmington could not supply. Boxes and bags and bundles 
gave forth the mellow fragrance of raisins, the cheerful rattle of nuts, 
the pungent savor of spices, — the promise of all things dear to the heart 
of the Virginia housewife. On every whiff floated mince-pie, — mince- 
pie embryonic, uncompounded; with every sniff there rose, like an ex- 
halation before the imagination, visions of Plum-Pudding, — of the Plum- 
Pudding of Old England, — twin sister of Roast Beef, — and with Roast 
Beef, inseparable attendant and indispensable bulwark of Constitutional 
Liberty."— i>o;i Miff, pp. 153, 154. 

The above passage was inspired by the Burleigh Christmas. 



PLANTATION MANAGEMENT. 83 

sent to the field. There were twenty-seven servants 
in the service of the house, he said. 

The land in cultivation looked like a lady's garden, 
scarcely a blade of grass to be seen in hundreds of 
acres. The rows and hills and furrows were laid off 
so carefully as to be a pleasure to the eye. The fences 
and bridges, gates and roads, were in good order. His 
wagons never broke down. All these details may seem 
quite out of place and superfluous. But they show the 
character of the man in a country where man}^ such 
things were neglected for the one important considera- 
tion, — the cotton crop. 

He never kept a slow mule ; all must be fast and 
strong. They were sold as soon as they failed to come 
up to these requirements. Thomas bi-ed all his own 
mules and nearly all his own horses, — his thorough- 
bred riding-horses always, — and frequently he had 
more than he needed of both. The great droves of 
mules and horses brought annually from Tennessee 
and Kentucky to less thrifty planters found no sale at 
Burleigh unless the master happened to need a pair of 
carriage-horses. Two teams of six mules each carried 
off his cotton crop, going to the station every working 
day for months. It was only ten miles off, but the 
eight bales of cotton, that weighed nearly five hundred 
pounds apiece, and the heavy, deeply cut-up roads, 
made it a day's journey. As the returning wagon- 
drivers came up in the evenings they were met by 
other men, who took the mules out and cared for them, 
and loaded up the wagons for the next day. It was 
not considered right by the master that those who oc- 
cupied the responsible position of drivers should have 
these labors to perform. They had nothing to do but 
to go to the house to deliver the cotton receipts, get a 
drink of whiskey, and some tobacco too, if the regular 
allowance issued had run short, and then home to sup- 
per and to rest, ready for a fresh start in the morning. 

Hog-killing time was a high carnival on the planta- 
tion. There were usually about a hundred and fifty or 
a hundred and seventy-five hogs, sometimes more. 
They supplied the house all the year round, and the 



84 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

negroes for six months. He had taken out to Missis- 
sippi the Yirginia art of curing bacon. His hams were 
famous among his friends and guests, as were the chops 
and saddles of Southdown mutton, the legs of venison, 
wild or from his park, the great rounds and sirloins of 
beef, and the steaks cut with the grain. 

It was no waste or useless lavishness that these great 
roasts of beef or mutton were seldom put on the table 
a second time, or that the number of chickens in the 
fattening coops were in the season not allowed to fall 
below sixty, or that during the winter and spring tur- 
keys were on the table twice a week. Not only the 
house-servants, but usually several sick and favorite 
ones, were fed from the table. In addition to these, 
there were almost always the servants of guests and 
neighbors in the house. 

It was customary on many plantations for boys to 
drive the mules in the cotton-gin. Under them the 
mules did not thrive, and had frequently to be changed. 
On the Burleigh place the most experienced and trust- 
worthy of the drivers had charge of the gin-mules. 
Under them the same team ginned out the entire crop, 
working at it every day for months. At the end of 
the season they were as fat and well as at the beginning. 

Fodder-pulling was looked on with dread by most 
planters, as the hot work among the corn-stalks gave 
the negroes chills and fevers. The master of Burleigh 
guarded his negroes against sickness by providing two 
barrels of whiskey for this season. Every man and 
woman came for a cup of it when the day's work was 
over. The wag of the plantation. Uncle Beverly, was 
always given two cups, because he had a very funny 
way of opening his enormous mouth and throwing the 
contents of the cup into it as if he were throwing it 
into a bucket. Everybody laughed when he did it, the 
master enjoying it as much as any of them. 

The heart-warming laugh with his master seemed to 
be the best part. 

Indulgent as he was when he thought his servants 
needed liquor, he was equally strict in forbidding them 
to touch it at other times. It was his boast that he 



PLANTATION MANAGEMENT. 85 

was always obeyed in this, and also that under hib 
system he had never had a drunkard on his plantation. 
Our friends and neighbors were not sure at Christmas 
and other festive seasons that the dining-room servants 
would not be intoxicated. At Burleigh the servants 
knew that the ea:o:no£>:-bowl and the other thino-s would 
be handed to them at the proper time, and they felt a 
pride in not displeasing the family by bad conduct. 
Likewise, his wagon-drivers were put on their good 
behavior as long as they had the wagons and teams 
under their care. The servants who went with the 
carriage to dinner-parties and at night about in the 
neighborhood had the lives of wife and children in 
their keeping, he used to say, and he chose them for 
their steadiness, and was never deceived or disap- 
pointed. In connection with this, his children and a 
number of young people, guests at Burleigh, were near 
meeting with an accident one cold winter's night. The 
roads were heavy, having been cut up by the cotton- 
wagons, and it was thought unsafe to go over five 
miles of a bad road on a dark night in anything less 
substantial than a six-mule plantation-wagon. There 
was great glee and fun in the getting off. It was at 
the Christmas season, and everybody felt in spirit for 
enjoying the Christmas-parties at the country-houses. 
There had been a series of them. As the wagon was 
loaded up with its gay, living freight, there was some 
talk of firing off some of the children's fire-crackers in 
order to put mettle into the mules. In the lightness of 
his heart the master called out to the steady Lewis, his 
trusted driver, " Lewis, don't bring them back till you 
have upset them twice." And with that parting speech, 
which was received with cheers, he went back into the 
house. He did not dream that Lewis, who had never 
disobeyed him in his life, did not mean to disobey him 
this time. AVe thought that Lewis was surely intoxi- 
cated, from the manner in which he brought us back 
home. But we had not had time to tell papa of our 
grave suspicions before Lewis's honest face appeared 
at the door with his apology to the amazed master. 
" I do my ve'y bes', marster, to tu'n dat waggin ober, 

8 



86 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

sir. I run it in all de gullies I could fin', but I couldn't 
tu'n it ober, sir." 

Southern children were taught to call the colored 
people aunt and uncle as titles of respect. They re- 
sented being called by their names without the title, 
and considered that it spoke ill for the manners of a 
child who would do so rude a thing. They called each 
other " brer" and " sis." This referred, not to the natu- 
ral relationship, but to their relationship in the church. 
On formal occasions they were "Mr." and "Mrs." 
Ignorance of this led me into sad disgrace one night with 
my usually indulgent Mammy Maria. She had taken 
me to see her brother married. I heard her address 
him as Mr. Ferguson, and at once asked, " Mammy, 
what makes you call Henr}^ Mr. Ferguson?" "Do you 
think 'cause we are black that we cyarn't have no 
names?" was mammy's indignant repl}^. Slie could 
not be angry more than a minute with " her white 
chillun." She never went to wedding or party or 
quilting without bringing to us an apple or a cake or a 
bouquet, — whatever was given to her there. I do not 
think that her own children fared as well. The mis- 
tress had wet-nurses for her babies, chosen from among 
her negro servants. The devotion of the nurses to 
these foster-children was greater than their love for 
their own. One of them, with a bab}^ at home very 
sick, left it to stay with the white child. This one she 
insisted on walking the night through, because he was 
roaring with the colic, though the mistress entirely 
disapproved, and urged her to go home to her own 
child, whose illness was more serious, if less noisy, 
than the white nursling with it8 colic. 



STILL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 87 



CHAPTEE YII. 

STILL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 

The summer of 1836 was spent by the Burleigli 
Dabneys in Yirginia. They returned home in October, 
and two weeks after reaching the plantation Sophia 
gave birth to her sixth son, Edward. 

The Burleigh plantation was regarded as a healthful 
place. Thomas left a belt of trees around his house of 
a half-mile to nearly a mile in width, that no upturning 
of the soil in the cultivation of the crops might en- 
danger the health of his family. He spent the summer 
of 1837 at home; but he sent Sophia and her boys to 
Kaymond, to her father's. She spent the next eight 
summers there, the winters being passed on the plan- 
tation, which lay ten miles south of E-aymond. 

A great sorrow came to the household in the summer 
of 1838. Thomas was at Mount Prospect on a visit to 
his mother, when a letter from Mr. Lewis Smith in- 
formed him that his six-year-old James and his Christ- 
mas boy, Thomas, ten years of age, both died within 
one week. James died on the 9th and Thomas on the 
15th of July. Years after this Thomas said that his 
heart had sunk lower in his body from the day that he 
heard of the loss of his two fair boys. James died first, 
and Sophia, dreading the effect on Thomas, allowed no 
one to tell him that his playfellow was gone. In dying 
Thomas called out, "Oh, I see Jimmy! Oh, gold all 
around ! So beautiful !" 

The two weeks of weary journeying and anxiety on 
the way from Yirginia to Mississippi, during which his 
fears were for the worst, at length came to an end. 
Thomas Dabney approached the home in which he had 
left Sophia and her five boys. He dreaded lest his 
whole family had been swept off by the disease that 
had taken away two. G-reat, indeed, were his relief 



88 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

and thankfulness when Sophia, in her white dress, with 
her Mississippi baby, Edward, in her arms, met him at 
the gate. She and three children had been spared to 
him. 

Thomas and Sophia found great comfort and enjoy- 
ment in the near neighborhood of her favorite sister 
Emmeline and her husband, Mr. Smith. The brothers- 
in-law were very congenial. The Smiths lived on the 
adjoining plantation of Midway, and the families spent 
the Sundays alternately at Burleigh and at Midway. 

Augustine Dabney had established himself in Eay- 
mond. He soon made a reputation for knowledge of 
the law and for brilliant literary attainments. He 
made no less a reputation for singular simplicity and 
unworldliness of character. He was of so tender- 
hearted a nature that he charged no fees of any widow. 
It mattered not if she were far richer than he was. 
Of course, this became known, and all women, and men, 
too, in distress and trouble came to him for the advice 
and ready sympathy and assistance which they were 
sure to receive. The kindl}^ nature was imposed on 
sometimes, but he did not resent it, and was read}^ the 
next time he heard a tale of distress to give all the 
comfort in his power. The brothers were in nearly 
every characteristic very different, but in their faith in 
human nature they were the same, — nothing could 
shake that. Both, in their different ways, had been 
deceived in people, but they put such cases out of their 
lives, considering them exceptional. The two hearts 
held not one drop of bitterness. Augustine was judge 
of the Probate Court of Hinds County for eight years, 
the result of four biennial elections by the people. He 
was a Whig. The Democratic party offered no oppos- 
ing candidate from ITovember, 1851, to November, 1859, 
during which years he held the office. G-overnor A. Gr. 
Brown, for many years one of the leaders of the Dem- 
ocratic party in Mississippi, said that it would have been 
useless for any one to run against Augustine Dabney. 

It is recorded of him that no decision of his while on 
the bench was reversed by the Court of Appeals. His 
hospitality and lavish generosity impaired his estate, 



STILL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 89 

But his simple home in Raymond was the centre of all 
that was most attractive. It was the resort of hig 
brothers of the bar, and of the bishop of the diocese 
and the clergy, and all distinguished visitors in the 
county. 

He was usually very quiet, but when a congenial 
theme was started, he was a charming talker. He was 
so scrupulously truthful in the smallest details that 
one felt condemned who had been betrayed into speak- 
ing in an exaggerated style in his presence. Mrs. Au- 
gustine Dabney was an invalid, with a nursery full 
of young children. She led the conversation at her 
table, unless Augustine happened to be in the talking 
vein. In this case she added to the charm of the en- 
tertainment by her witty sallies, not taking the talk 
away from him, but rather stimulating him. " The in- 
tercourse between Mrs. Augustine Dabney and Sophia 
was always of the most delightful kind. They loved 
each other like sisters. The children of the brothers, 
under such influence, grew up in the closest intimacy, 
more like brothers and sisters than cousins. It was 
hardly an exaggeration to say that the dearest friend 
of each child was to be found in the other family. They 
paired off according to their ages, which fell nearly 
together. A life of Thomas could not be written if 
Augustine and his family were left out. The two 
households, in the somewhat isolated life in Mississippi, 
were more intimate with each other than with any 
other relations on either side. 

In the early days of Mississippi the Choctaw Indians 
had not yet been moved to the Indian Territory. They 
soon learned to know that they had friends in the fam- 
ily at Burleigh. They fell into a way of camping for 
two weeks during every autumn on the Tallahala Creek. 
The name Tallahala is itself a Choctaw word, signify- 
ing owl. Tbe lands along its banks, and through all 
that region of country, were once the hunting-grounds 
of the Indians. Many of their stone arrow-heads are 
yet to be found scattered through the woods, and many 
are upturned by the ploughmen in the fields. Less than 
four miles from Burleigh is a spot where their arrow- 
s' 



90 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

beads were evidently made. Bits of the flint lie scat- 
tered as they were left by them. Arrow-heads are 
there in all stages of construction ; on each one can 
plainly be seen the reason why it was abandoned : an 
unlucky or unskilful blow had chipped it in the wrong 
place. Some were merely outlined in a rude way, 
some had one side well shaped, some were nearly com- 
pleted, when an unwitting stroke spoiled them. Some 
were plainly the work of the veriest tyro, probably of 
some little brave, who was learning already the noble 
ia'ts of the chase and of war. Three and a half miles 
southwest of this spot is a battle-field, where, in these 
early days, these arrow-heads were thickly strewn. In 
the midst is an Indian burial-mound, where, tradition 
saj^s, the slain warriors who fell in that battle were in- 
terred. Not fifty yards from the door of the Burleigh 
house, on a hill-side, two very curious specimens of 
Indian stone-work were found by the children, — one a 
highly polished and beautiful hatchet. The Choctaws 
loved the Tallahala Creek. Its banks were clothed 
with thickets of cane which the men used for making 
their blowguns and arrows, and the women for making 
their baskets. Their peculiar way of selling their 
baskets was interesting A certain basket would have 
as its price as much sugar as it could hold, another 
coffee in the same proportion, and others flour, etc. 
This arrangement was never departed from, so far as 
we know. 

It was quite impossible to get a " coffee-basket" with 
sugar, or a " sugar-basket" with coffee, I think. Pres- 
ents of clothing or of anything else were promptly 
subjected to a scrutinizing examination under the eyes 
of the donor. If a torn place or other defect could be 
found, it was pointed out with equal interest and naivete. 
They were an innocent, inoffensive people, and never 
forgot a kindness. They were so scrupulously honest 
that they burned only the fallen and dead boughs that 
they found decaying on the ground. The master's 
fences and his woodpile were not molested. They came 
in the cotton-picking season, and the planters were al- 
ways glad to have them, as they picked carefully and 



STILL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 91 

got no trash in their bags. They did all work well 
that they attempted at all, tanning buckskin, blowgun- 
making, and basket-weaving. On one occasion a baby 
was born in the Tallahala camp on the very night be- 
fore they had arranged to depart for their homes. This 
did not interfere with the plan of march. The mother 
and the little "pooscoos," as the Choctaws call their 
babies, were set up on a pony, and in this manner thej 
went off. The voices of the Choctaw women are low 
and sweet, — more like the cooing and chirpings of 
birds than like the human voice of any but some young 
children. 

Mr. Lewis Smith was a true friend to the Indians 
It was said that he could not refuse any request made 
by them. One day an Indian man cast admiring eyes 
on a red cloak that Mr. Smith had provided for the 
winter, and on an intimation that he desired it Mr. 
Smith took the cloak off and handed it to him. 

It was with genuine regret that their white friends 
saw that year by year their number became fewer. 
At last the gray-headed chief led to the " nation" the 
last of the Choctaws of Hinds County. 

Not more than three years had elapsed since Thomas 
had made his home in Mississippi when he received 
a letter from John Tyler, who aspired to the office of 
Yice-President of the United States, requesting him to 
use his personal influence with the prominent men of 
Mississippi to bring about this result. He wrote at 
once, saying that by reason of his brief residence in 
the State and limited acquaintance with the people any 
assistance which he could give would be of necessity 
small and almost valueless, but that he would do his 
utmost. It so happened that Mississippi was one of the 
first Southern States in which a convention was held 
for the purpose of discussing the names of Whig can- 
didates for the offices of President and Yice-President 
of the United States. The main question before this 
convention was whom to nominate for President, — the 
question of whose name to put forward for Yice-Presi- 
dent not being considered of mufih moment at that 
time. 



92 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

This convention was held at Jackson, the capital of 
the State, twenty-five miles away from his plantation 
As Thomas was not a public speaker, he requested his 
brother Augustine to present the name of John Tyler 
to the convention for this office. 

On the last day of the convention, Thomas, feeling 
some solicitude, mounted his horse and rode to Jack- 
son, arriving there just as the house was on the point 
of going into nominations. 

He asked at once, "What are the chances for Johr 
Tyler?" 

Augustine replied, "I have not done anything ir 
that matter, and fear that it is now too late." After 
a moment's reflection he cried out, " No, it is not too 
late; let us speak to Sharkey, Poindexter, Chilton, — 
any of these gentlemen will second the nomination." 
So the brothers made their way to the seats of these 
gentlemen, and advocated the claims of their Virginia 
friend. His name was accordingly introduced in due 
form, but in the midst of the proceeding a voice 
called out, " John Tyler won't do. Who vouches for 
him?" Governor Sharkey at once replied, "Colonel 
Dabney does, and that's sufficient." Without further 
question or discussion the balloting began, and he re- 
ceived the nomination. And the State of Arkansas, 
holding her convention a few weeks thereafter, gave 
her votes to him whom Mississippi had endorsed. 
When the general convention of the party was held in 
St. Louis, it was discovered that John Tyler was the 
only candidate for the vice-presidency who had in ad- 
vance any following; and when his own State came 
to his aid he was nominated without any serious oppo- 
sition. 

When, on President Harrison's death, Mr. Tyler be- 
came the chief executive of the United States many 
office-seekers put in their claims. Among others a 
Mississippi name was sent up. " Not a single appoint- 
ment for Mississippi until Colonel Dabney is heard 
from," was the President's answer. But, as is well 
known, Mr. T^der did not long adhere to the principles 
of the Whig party. The mortification to Thomas Dab- 



STILL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 93 

ney was excessive. He felt almost as if he were him- 
self compromised, and his feeling against John Tyler 
became bitter. He refused to answer any letters or 
messages from him. Once during Mr. Tyler's term of 
office he went to Washington, intending to spend 
several days there. Mr. Tyler's son happened to be at 
the station, and recognized him as he was getting off 
tho train. He seemed unconscious of the existing 
state of feeling, and was for taking Thomas at once 
with his luggage to the White House. Thomas could 
not explain to the affectionate young fellow, and left 
Washington on the next train, as he saw no other way 
out of the embarrassing situation. 

Many j^ears after this the ex-President, John Tyler, 
wept as he spoke of the loss of the friendship of Thomas 
Dabney, and tried to bring about a renewal of inter- 
course. They had not only been friends but were allied 
by marriage, as Thomas's first wife was a cousin of Mr. 
Tyler's. He wrote to beg that their children might 
visit each other, and invited the Mississippi family to 
come to Yirginia to see his. But the subject was yet 
too sore with Thomas. He could never mention Mr. 
Tyler's name without emotion. 

As time went on comforts and conveniences grew up 
around the families in the new country. But it was at 
times difficult to provide for so many. In June, 1837, 
Mr. Hill wrote to a sister in Virginia, "There is a great 
scarcity of provisions in this part of the State. Corn- 
meal is worth two dollars and fifty cents a bushel, 
and flour seventeen dollars a barrel." 

Mr. and Mrs. Hill had chosen Eaymond as their 
home. This little village was situated on an elevated 
ridge, and had been noted for its healthfulness. Several 
other Virginia families who ni(»ved to the far South at 
this time decided on making their homes in Raymond. 
They formed an agreeable and cultivated society. 

In the autumn of 1838 (November 4) Sophia's first 
daughter was born. She was joyfully named Sarah by 
her father. About a year later Sophia wrote to her 
aunt in Virginia, "Little S. begins to step about." 

In 1839, Mr. Chax-les Hill died. He was on his way to 



94 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

visit Yirginia, and had not gotten bej^ond the bounds of 
bis adopted State when the fatal ilhiess seized him. It 
was his request that no mourning should be worn for 
him, and no stone set up to mark his last resting-place. 
His family respected his wishes, and he lies in an un- 
marked grave in Holmes County, Mississippi. 

The following are the last lines written in his journal 
before his death. They were penned on this journey: 
" When will men agree to differ, — to allow each other 
perfect freedom of conscience? Not until they love 
each other and become Christians. Not until they set 
no value upon worldly distinction but as a means of 
doing good and making others good, and therefore 
happy. Not until they act upon the truth that the 
least in the kingdom of God is greater than George 
Washington on earth in all his glory." 

Those who knew him said that he lived up to these 
high views of the responsibilities of life. He was stern 
with his children, who were a good deal afraid of him. 
He threw a handsome doll in the fire that Sophia and 
Emmeline were disputing over. Sophia said it had the 
desired effect, as she never again said an unkind word 
to her sister. 

When a very young man he had met his future wife, 
when she was a girl of onl}^ fifteen years old, and had 
lost his heart with her. We children delighted in mak- 
ing her give an account of the courtship. It took place 
as she was walking home from school with her books 
on her arm. It was, like everything about him, direct. 
" Miss Susan, give me your hand." The answer to this 
was that the little girl frankly placed her hand in his. 
He saw that she was unconscious of his meaning. "And 
your heart too," he added. This time she understood, 
and the hand was not withdrawn. Her mother had 
died when she was but two hours old, and her homo 
with a step-mother was an unhappy one. This woman, 
in her father's absence, would take her by her long 
hair and throw her out of the house, and the little step- 
brother was set above her in every way. The harsh 
treatment brought out the patience and gentleness that 
endeared her to all who knew her in after-life. The 



STILL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 95 

step mother herself became attached to her, and at her 
death divided her property equally between her own 
bo}' and her step-daughter. 

In the summer of 1840 the second daughter, Susan, 
was born to Sophia. She was welcomed as a companion 
to Sarah, and a month after her birth, which took place 
in Eaymond, she was taken to the plantation on a 
pillow. " May she be a blessing to all who love her," 
her grandmamma Macon wrote. In the winter of 1842 
the third daughter was born, and was called Sophia, 
after her mother, who had gotten her name from Gold- 
smith's charming heroine. The next child, Benjamin, 
lived only eight days. In the autumn of 1845 Sophia 
gave birth to her eleventh child, Emmeline. 

Our grandmother Hill's youngest daughter had mar- 
ried soon after her father's death, and the widowed 
mother in a few years resolved on giving up her 
home in Eaymond. After several changes she fixed 
on the house of her favorite son-in-law, Thomas, as her 
home. The large number of young children made the 
house too noisy for her delicate nerves. Thomas, ever 
solicitous to be a true son to her, built a cottage for 
her after her own plan. It was placed near the house, 
and contained two large rooms and spacious closets. 

The years spent by this dear grandmother in the 
midst of the Burleigh household were among the hap- 
piest of our lives. She was lovely to look upon in her 
lace-frilled cap, and with her reticule on her arm. 
Each child looked on her as his or her special friend, 
and she was never tired of trying to make everybody 
about her good and happy. She was too delicate to 
walk much. But she had beautiful taste, and seeuied 
to make everything prettier about the place. Under 
her care many fine roses, tulips, hyacinths, and other 
flowers flourished in the Burleigh garden. During 
the last years of her life she lay on a lounge, with her 
New Testament and Jay's " Morning and Evening Ex- 
ercises" within reach of her hand. Other books, too, 
were near, and she spent much time in reading. Her 
room became the sitting-room of the family, she was so 
bright and sunny-hearted, and always so ready to be 



96 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

interested in everything. Over all there was a halo 
as of a spirit at peace with God and man. A few 
months before her death, which did not take place till 
May, 1854, a sorrow came that would have been a 
heavy affliction at another time in her life. She said 
that she had no tears to shed, because she felt so near 
the other world, where the loved one had gone. Her 
last few months were sad. A depression seized her 
that could not be shaken off. She bore it with her 
usual patience, seeing a Merciful Hand in all that was 
sent, yet begging her Heavenly Father to shorten the 
days. The gloom was not lifted. She passed away in 
much suffering, leaving the memory of a spotless life. 
It was said of her that she never knew any scandal. 
Her neighbors in Eaymond could not look at her and 
tell her stories that all knew but her. The thought of 
evil to that white soul was like a physical pain. She 
could not bear to hear any one spoken against, and was 
ever ready to plead the extenuating circumstances that 
her eyes could see in each case, however black it might 
look to others. The first word that she taught her 
favorite grandson to spell was "good." She was an 
accomplished needle-woman, and so industrious that 
she did not like to be idle, even while sick. Mr. Hill 
forbade her sewing, and when she heard his step she 
hid her work behind her in her large chair. She gave 
away everything. With all her love for the beautiful, 
she seemed to have no desire to own anything that 
could give pleasure to another. When she died, as has 
been said of another lovely Christian character, her 
things were "touching in their fewness." 

At the time that she decided on giving up her home 
in Eaymond she divided not only all her household 
effects, but her property of all kinds, among her three 
dciughters. Thomas was much opposed to this arrange- 
ment and endeavored in vain to dissuade her. She 
would need money, however, to buy her clothes, and said 
that each daughter should hand to her an annual sum 
for this purpose. The amount named by her was small. 
Thomas tried to make her double it, but she was firm, 
and would re<jeive nothing beyond the sum first asked 



fiTiLL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 97 

for. A large proportion of this was spent each year in 
presents to the servants and to other needy persons. 
She was at heart an emancipationist, whether from 
sympathy with the colored race or with their owners I 
do not know.* 

In 1845, Thomas decided to look for a summer home 
for his family somewhere on the shores of the Gulf of 
Mexico. JSe heard much of the beauty and salubrity 
of Pass Christian, and of the delightful society to be 
met there. He visited the line of Gulf coast, and re- 
solved on buying a place at the Pass. He got a very 
simple but airy and cool house, situated in a grove of 
shade-trees looking directly on the shining beach and 
the blue waters of the Gulf. 

The little village of Pass Christian, situated about 
midway between jN'ew Orleans and Mobile on the Mis- 
sissippi Sound (as that part of the Mexican Gulf is 
called), is a place of extreme beauty. The houses, em 
bosomed in the shade of live-oak, magnolia, and other 
beautiful trees, were dotted along the beach for four 
miles. The residents or sojourners were, in the main, 
people of culture and wealth, — either citizens of 'New 
Orleans or planters of Mississippi and Louisiana, who 
came there to spend the summer months. Almost di- 
rectly out to sea lies Cat Island, some ten or twelve 
miles away, the most western of a chain of islands 
which run parallel with this coast, protecting it from 
frequent and sudden storms which vex the waters of 
the open Gulf. Inside of this natural barrier the water 
is generally shallow, and the deeper parts or channels 
are called " passes," hence the name Pass Christian. 
Eight miles out from the shore is another pass called 
Pass Marian ; and there, in place of a light-house, an 
old iron ship was anchored. On board this ship lived 
the light-keeper with his wife and one child, a daughter. 
I remember that our hearts were stirred with compas- 



* A few Sundays ago one of her old neighbors laid upon the altar of 
the parish church in Raymond a memorial of Susan Fitzhugh Hill, — a 
handful of the fragrant white star jasmine. It grew in her garden on a 
bush that her hand had tended fifty years ago. 

^ g 9 



98 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

sion for this little family, thinking that their lot was 
very dreary. 

Many gentlemen at Pass Christian owned fast-sailing 
3^acht8, and during the season fortnightly regattas were 
held, in which the entire population felt deeply in- 
terested, as almost every one owning a yacht entered 
it for the race. Thomas was the first president of the 
yacht club, and was, I believe, annually re-elected as 
long as he lived at Pass Christian. 

SOPHIA TO THOMAS DABNEY. 

" Pass Christian, July 30, 1847. 

..." I have another great comfort to add. The ser- 
vants I have brought with me have behaved remarka- 
bly well. I never have to remind them of their duties. 
They all seem to anticipate my wants. I always 
thought I valued my servants very highly, but I never 
valued them enough. They all act towards me as they 
did when you were sick. They add much to my en- 
joyment. It does not take much to trouble me when 
you are absent. ... I would give a great deal to see 
Charley, but tell him that I am very happy in thinking 
about his coming next summer. Tell Virginius and 
Sarah not to forget me, I know Charley will not." 

Thomas was in Virginia on a visit to his mother. 
He had taken, as usual, some of her grandchildren to 
" show to her." 

It was a shock and grief to Thomas when the State 
of Mississippi repudiated her debts. He worked against 
repudiation with all his energy. When he found his 
efforts in that direction useless, it occurred to him that 
the honor of the State that was the birthplace of his 
children could yet be saved by private subscription. 
He offered to head the list by giving ten thousand 
dollars. It would have ruined him, for he was just 
beginning to get his plantation in order. He still lived 
in the old log house with the leaky roof. But, with 
heroic improvidence, he refused to consider personal 
consequences. His efforts were fruitless. He could 
not rouse the people in his State to join him in a plan 
that they looked on as a costly piece of quixotism. 



STILL WATERS AND GREEN PASTURES. 99 

In one of these years Chancellor Tyler's estate was 
settled up. By the laws of Virginia Thomas came in 
as one of the heirs. He wrote to his brother-in-law. 
Mr, Whittle, that he declined to receive his share of 
the inheritance. In reply, Mr. Whittle suggested that 
he probably was not aware of the amount that he was 
refusing, — about ten thousand dollars. But Thomq^ re- 
quested that this might be divided equally among the 
sisters of his deceased wife. Sophia also declined to 
receive a small legacy (about three hundred dollars) 
which came to her from a maiden aunt. At her request 
it was given to one of the other heirs, a cousin who 
was not prosperous. 

Thomas always maintained that no preparation could 
help him to bear a trial, and that it was no true kind- 
ness to make concealment; and he made none in his 
intercourse with those with whom he was thrown. He 
said that if he were condemned to be hanged, he should 
not wish a reprieve. A characteristic incident took 
place when he went with a young girl, the only daugh- 
ter of Emmeline Smith, to have an operation performed 
on her eye. The oculist told her that it would give her 
no pain at all, and begged her to quiet herself But 
she got into floods of tears, and had no courage to sub- 
mit to the operation. In her distress she turned to 
Thomas, — 

" Oh, Uncle Dabney, will it hurt very much ?" 
"Yes, my child," he said, "like the very devil." 
The girl knew that he had told her the truth, and it 
braced her nerves for the pain. Putting her two hands 
in his, she asked him to hold them, and she submitted 
to the oculist without an}^ more remonstrance. 

In the early spring of this year (1847) a sad change 
came for the neighborhood. Mrs. Lewis Smith, while 
superintending the planting of a large garden for the 
plantation negroes, stood too long on the damp ground 
and took a cold which soon developed into pneumonia. 
The disease terminated fatally after a short illness. 
Our mother said of her that she was the best mistress 
whom she had eveji. known. She would add, in her 
humility, that she w^ a much better woman than she 



ifC, 



100 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

was. Our dear mother said that of many people. The 
loss of Mrs. Smith was much felt, and led to another 
scarcely less. Mr. Smith was so wretched at her death 
that he could not be roused, and he died in a few months 
of a broken heart. The two children, Campbell and 
Olivia, were committed to the guardianship of Thomas. 
"When Mr. Smith felt himself dying, he asked Thomas 
to promise never to give up his son Campbell. Not 
even to a dying man, and one to whom he was tenderly 
attached, would Thomas make that promise. He told 
him that he could not make a promise that he might 
have to break, but he would do all that he could for the 
boy. After the funeral he took him home to Burleigh. 
From there he was sent in a few months, in accordance 
with Mr. Smith's expressed wishes, to school in Yir- 
ginia. 

In 1849, Thomas wrote to his ward, H. Campbell 
Smith : 

..." I hope you are making good progress in your 
studies ; for, if you flinch now, you can never make it 
up. Apply yourself to the extent of your powers, so 
that you may be well prepared to enter the university 
next October. I entertain no doubt about your com- 
petency to achieve it if you will but determine upon 
it. Do it, then, and it will be a source of gratification 
to you to the end of your life ; but if you permit any 
circumstance to divert you from it, you will never for- 
give yourself." 

Sophia to her aunt, March 7, 1847 : " Our house will 
ever be a home to Olivia if she will be willing to come 
and live with me after she has completed her educa- 
tion. It will afl'ord me great pleasure to have her with 
me as my own.'^ 

Olivia lived at Burleigh up to her marriage, and was 
ever an affectionate daughter of the house. 

The home at Midway was broken up. The family 
at Burleigh turned more than ever to the Eaymond 
Dabneys. 



MANAGEMENT OF SERVANTS. 101 

CHAPTEE YIII. 

MANAGEMENT OP SERVANTS. 

The house-servants were never required to sit up 
later than ten, and only the cook and dining-room ser- 
vants were detained till then. No grown servant slept 
in the house. Sixteen living children — nine sons and 
seven daughters — were born to Thomas and Sophia 
Dabney, and, though she was not strong, she managed 
to take care of her babies at night unassisted. Two 
young negro girls slept in the house, but were rarely 
disturbed. One of these girls, now a married woman 
with great girls of her own, relates to me a touching 
instance of the kindly simplicity of the sweet mistress: 
"I asked missis to button my dress for me one mornin'. 
I didn't know no better. An' missis buttoned it up for 
me." 

A little incident will throw some light on the life of 
the mother who during thirty years was never with 
out an infant in her arms. One night one of the little 
girls had a dream that frightened her, and ran to her 
mother's bed to wake her up. "Let us light the candle 
and play with your doll-babies," mamma said; and the 
two crouched down by the corner where the dolls slept, 
and planned over them and dressed them until the 
child was willing to go back to her own bed, the dream 
quite forgotten. There were several children in the 
nursery younger than this one at the time. 

She did not allow the maids to be kept up at night 
to undress her daughters or to be called on to do many 
things that the body-servants in other households were 
expected to do. " They are not machines," she said to 
her children J "they are just like you, made of the same 
flesh and blood." When one of the children, old enough 
to dress herself, held out her foot to have the shoe and 
stocking taken off, she said, " Do it yourself. You are 
just as able to do it as Milly is." 

9* 



102 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

She also impressed lessons of industry and economy 
on her children. She could not expect, she said, that 
they would always be as well off as they were then, and 
she did not know which one might be destined for 
poverty. Wastefulness was a sin, she said, apart from 
the bad habits that come in its train. She impressed 
these lessons the more earnestly as the father was, in- 
clined to be extravagant. 

In cases of sickness where nursing at night was re- 
quired she sent those servants who performed this part 
to bed the next morning. The parents themselves did 
most of the nursing. During the fifty years that 
Thomas spent in Mississippi he was very ill only once, 
and the kindness and devotion of his negroes — " his 
people," as they still call themselves, though they have 
been free twenty-one years — were often in after-life 
referred to. He could not bear a sound. As the house 
could not be kept quiet with so many young children 
about, the nursery was moved to Mammy Harriet's. 
Here we spent three weeks. We were too young to 
feel the anxiety of the time. We thought it no end of 
fun to keep house with mammy, and to play with her 
black cat that knew how to shake hands, and to hear 
her boy Ike ask riddles at night when he came home 
out of the fields. Our nurses were so wisely chosen 
that we never heard a -ghost-story from one of them 
during the whole course of our childhood, nor anything 
else that the most careful parents could object to. 

Thomas had quite an amusing experience when he 
attempted to set two of his servants free. A man who 
had been very lazy and unreliable in every way all his 
life,* asked the master one day to let him hire his time 
from him and live in Haymond. He thought that he 
could make a great deal of money in Eaymond, black- 
ing gentlemen's boots and waiting on them. 

Uncle Abel's feet were so large and set at such 
an angle as to be damaging to the crops as he walked 
between the rows, and for that reason he was not 



* This man had been sold by his former master for half a dollar, and 
had come into Thomas's possession through a mistake. 



MANAGEMENT OF SERVANTS. 103 

allowed to work in the fields. His sole business was to 
ride over the plantation, calling up the hogs and feed- 
ing them. He liked to hold gentlemen's horses at the 
gate, too, after a hostler had saddled them, but this 
was a voluntary addition to his duties. 

The master's answer to Uncle Abel's proposition was 
that he should charge him nothing for his time; on tlie 
contrary, he would present him with twenty-five dollars 
and set him free for life. He added the stipulation, 
however, that Uncle Abel should never return to him. 
Uncle Abel made no reply, but nothing more was ever 
heard of his desire to make a fortune. The woman 
who had charge of the Pass Christian house also was 
opposed to plantation life, and did not wish to return to 
it when the master sold the summer place. She had 
been born on the water, she said, and she wanted to 
die on it, and asked to be allowed to live at the Pass 
and support herself by selling chickens and eggs. The 
master consented at once, and told her that he should 
give her twenty-five dollars as a start in life, but she 
must first promise not to return to him when she had 
grown tired of working for herself Her answer to 
this proposition was to pack up her things in all haste 
to return with him to the plantation, and she was 
quite in a tremor lest the master should desire to set 
her free against her will. 

Thomas sold but four negroes. One of these was a 
violent and bad woman, who, after many attempts, 
succeeded one day in stabbing her husband to death. 
She was tried for her life, and would have been hanged 
if her master had made any attempt to save her. He 
thought she ought to suffer the penalty of the law and 
made no move in her defence, and this conduct influ- 
enced the jury to bring in a verdict of manslaughter 
in self-defence, and she was acquitted. But he would 
not keep a murderess on his plantation, and she was 
sold. A kind rjan bought her, knowing her history. 
Another case was that of a man who attempted to kill 
the overseer. He was the son of our beloved nurse, 
Mammy Harriet, — Ike, who knew so many delightful 
riddles; and it was a sad day in the master's house 



104 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

when it was known that one of that family was to 
stand a trial for his life. As in the former case, no 
counsel was employed by the master to save his prop- 
erty, and, as in that case, Ike was acquitted. He was 
sold, and we never saw him again. A third case was 
that of a girl who was so thievish that the plantation 
negroes petitioned the master to sell her. Nothing 
was safe in their houses if they were left open. They 
were afraid to leave their hampers in the field lest In- 
dian Mary, as she was called on account of her straight 
black hair, should rob them. Instead of picking cotton 
herself she went from hamper to hamper filling her 
bag. As the negroes were paid for picking cotton this 
was no light grievance, and finally got to be unbear- 
able and led to the above result. So Mary was told 
that she must choose a good master for herself. She 
chose a man who lived alone and had no other servant. 
There was no chance of stealing, for she was welcome, 
the man said, to everything in his little cabin. For 
years she came over on Sundays to her old home to tell 
how well she was getting on. One of the little girls 
in the house was much attached to her, and learned to 
knit that she might knit a pair of stockings for Mary's 
baby, and begged for pudding that she might send it 
to the old favorite. 

The last case was that of a woman who had no fam- 
ily ties on the place that she cared for, and desired to 
be sold to a man who owned no other negroes. She 
also came over on Sundays to visit her friends both in 
the house and in the quarters. 

Thomas disapproved of hiring out servants; it broke 
up families, he said. At times he hired out one or two 
mechanics. He hired a young blacksmith to a good 
master in Eaymond for some years, the man being very 
happy there. The price that was paid for him was 
five hundred dollars a year. Another man offered six 
hundred dollars, but Thomas refused it, saying that he 
did not wish his young servant to work hard enough 
to be worth six hundred dollars to his employer. 

One of his visits to his mother at her Mount Pros- 
pect home was made at Christmas. A company of 



MANAGEMENT OF SERVANTS. 105 

gentlemen spent the holiday week there on the same 
occasion. As they were all going away, Thomas, who 
was about to mount his horse also, said to them, 
" Gentlemen, there is one person who has contributed 
much to our enjoyment. I mean the cook. Let us 
not forget her. Here is my five- dollar gold-piece for 
her." In a minute every hand held out a five-dollar 
gold-piece, and twenty-five dollars were sent to the 
kitchen to the cook. 

Sophia Dabney was once sent for to spend a day or 
two with her sister, Mrs. Moncure, who was ill and 
needed her care. When she came home she said that 
Mrs. Moncure was a better mistress than she was. She 
spoke of the attachment of the servants for her sister, 
and their anxious inquiries at the house of her condi- 
tion. When breakfast and tea were over, she had been 
surprised at the line of cups and plates that had been 
placed for her to fill in the absence of the sick mistress 
from the table. In Sophia's housekeeping she had not 
attempted to give any meal but dinner from her table. 
In her humility she forgot that her establishment, both 
of white and black, made it impossible to carry out 
the regulations that could be practised in a smaller 
family. 

Mrs. Moncure had inherited a number of negroes 
from her father's estate. It is recorded of her that she 
never allowed any of these servants to be punished for 
any offence whatever. " They are mine" was the man- 
tle of protection that she threw over them and their 
descendants. Mrs. Moncure had inherited the old fam- 
ily nurse, Mamni}^ Mary, to whom she and my mother 
were greatly attached. She was one of the most ex- 
alted Christians whom I have ever met. When some 
one asked if she, in her long years of confinement to 
hor own cabin in her old age, preferred bright weather 
to rainy days, her answer was, "I am thankful for 
whatever the Father sends." 

My mother took her an annual present, and the old 
nurse sent freely to her for anything that she needed. 
As long as the old woman was able to move about she 
was a regular visitoi at Burleigh, coming in the car- 



106 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

riage with Mrs. Moncure when she spent the day with 
her sister. When Mammy Mary grew too feeble to go 
out she expected to be daily visited by Mrs. Moncure 
and her children, and by all the family connections 
who visited her mistress. She was a devout member 
of the Baptist Church, and attended it in Mrs. Mon- 
cure's carriage. For years her trim, neat figure, her 
snowy cap, and rapt face was a familiar picture to 
the congregation as she sat on the steps of the pulpit, 
a seat allowed her on account of her deafness. The 
church was built for the white people of the neighbor- 
hood, but a large number of benches were set apart for 
the negroes. They were well filled on "meeting-days." 
The man who took up the collection handed the plate 
to the slaves as well as to the masters, and our G-eorge 
Page, among others, did not fail to put in his contribu- 
tion. George was able to do this. He has lately said 
that he received as much as fifty dollars a year from 
visitors to his master's house. 

Thomas was an accurate shot with a rifle, and was 
successful as a huntsman. He was devoted to both 
hunting and fishing. The deer, which abounded on the 
plantation when he bought it, grew fewer and fewer as 
year by year they were hunted and killed. In the 
neighboring county of Scott they still roamed in great 
numbers. The lands were lying out, and free to an}^ 
sportsman who cared to shoot the deer. Thomas and 
some of his neighbors organized a hunting club to go 
each autumn to enjoy the Scott County hunting- 
grounds. For eight j^ears they spent two weeks of 
every E'ovember over there. Thomas took along, be- 
sides the horse on which he rode, a mule that he called 
his hunting mule. "Annie" was trained to stand while 
he fired from her back; and when, in the heat of pur- 
suit, he leaped off and left Annie with her bridle 
hanging as it chanced to fall, the sagacious beast stood 
stock-still till her master returned to the spot. He 
attributed much of his success in the Scott County 
hunts to the docility of this mule. 

He had a pack of hounds that were rarely used ex- 
cept on these annual hunts. A wagon with four mules 



MANAGEMENT OF SERVANTS. 107 

carried his servants and a marquee large enough for 
twelve men, bed, camp-chest, etc. Provisions of 
various sorts were stowed away in the wagon. This 
camping- out frolic was looked forward to by the club 
with the zest of boys. The deer were killed in num- 
bers. Occasionally a wild turkey would be brought 
into camp, and add variety to the feast. 

The deer were so abundant that the greater number 
of the huntsmen did not care to shoot at a doe or a 
fawn. But the excitable ones did not regard age or 
sex. The huntsmen used to agree that one of their 
number, Mr. Mount, saw branching antlers on every 
deer's head that started up before him, as he rushed 
wildly in the chase. 

Thomas delighted in telling stories of these hunts. 
They were full of adventure. The gay huntsmen, 
leaving all care behind, were as full of practical jokes 
as school-boys. On the breaking up of the camp the 
deer were divided out and taken home, some of them 
in their skins and with antlers on. 

Thomas was in the habit of throwing his gun across 
his saddle-bow whenever he rode out into his fields, 
with the hope of getting a shot at a deer or a wild tur- 
key. One day a gobbler started up at a distance of 
about fifty yards in front of him, and ran down the 
road. He fired and killed him, the bullet running along 
the spine and through the neck. Thomas's eyes were 
strong and far-sighted. He could read the name of an 
incoming steamer at Pass Christian before any one else 
present could make out the form of a letter. His eyes 
were not readily forgotten by any one who had ever 
seen him. Madame Desrayaux, the head of a French 
" pensionnat " in New Orleans, said that she could not 
recall the face of any of the fathers of her young ladies 
except Colonel Dabney's. Some of these she saw every 
year. She had seen him but once, as his daughter was 
with her but one winter. But she could never forget 
his eyes. 



108 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 
OHAPTEE IX. 

A SOUTHERN PLANTER'S WIPE. 

It has already been said that in 1845 Pass Christian 
was chosen as a summer resort for the family. Eight 
happy summers were spent there. Thomas and Sophia 
enjoyed the good society, and soon made warm friends 
among the residents. It was a sort of Paradise to the 
children. Books and studies were left behind, — very 
little was thought of but bathing and crabbing and 
fishing, rowing, sailing, swimming, picking up shells 
and " fiddler-crabs," and trying to gather the pale pink 
sand-flowers, that withstood so much tossing from the 
sea-breezes, but fell in pieces w4th the lightest touch of 
the human hand. In the long summer mornings we 
ran just as wild as we pleased. In the afternoons we 
must be dressed and be civilized. At the Pass we took 
our dancing lessons. Our mother took as many of us 
out airing as the family carriage, reinforced by two 
ponies, could carry. One of the children heard a neigh- 
bor say, as the carriage drove by with the mother in 
the midst of the little flock, that when Mrs. Dabney 
went driving she took the whole Dabney family with 
her. The mother was only amused, and filled her car- 
riage as full as ever. When the Baroness Bunsen's 
tenth child was born, she felt that she had never loved 
a baby so dearly, — her motherliness had increased with 
each child that came. It was so in Sophia's case. She 
became so accustomed to the noise of young children 
that she seemed quite unconscious of it, but missed it 
Y)ainfully if separated from her children. Her mother- 
liness extended over the whole plantation. She had a 
special eye and care for any neglected or unfortunate 
or ill-treated negro child, and would contrive to have 
such cases near her. One deformed, sickly girl, who 
was of no value in any sense, she took to the Pass one 
summer for the benefit of the sea-bathing. In the 
Burleigh household of servants there was usually some 



A SOUTHERN PLANTEWS WIFE. 10^ 

young negro so hopelessly dull that her own mother 
would not try to teach her to sew or to do other useful 
things. Under the sheltering wing of the mistress this 
girl would be patiently taught to do many things. 
Sophia was aware that this was not the w^ay to have 
her household ordered in the best style. She was quite 
indifferent to the public opinion that required only fine- 
looking, thoroughly trained servants about the estab- 
lishment of a gentleman. Many of her servants were 
intelligent, and filled their departments well, and the 
dull one was screened by being kept in the nursery and 
about her. The objects of her patience and kindness 
were devoted to her and proud of her favor. In many 
instances they became much better instructed than 
would have been thought possible by one less conscien- 
tious and full of faith than herself 

She felt for her house servants on Sundays, and 
allowed the cook and dining-room servants to put sub- 
stitutes in their places, as they were more confined than 
the others. They had pride in their office, and in- 
structed the substitutes so successfully that very little 
difference was perceived. But now and then a ludicrous 
mistake was made in the table attendance. One day 
Sophia asked one of these substitutes to give her a 
potato. A hand was promptly thrust across the table 
over the heads of the children, the potato seized, and 
then, without a misgiving, deposited on the plate of the 
mistress at the head of the table. She gave no sign of 
disapproval, receiving it as if it had been handed her 
in a proper manner. 

She often found difficulty in controlling her laughter. 
It was contagious and very peculiar. She gave scarcely 
a sound. Everything about her was soft, — her voice, 
her manner, and her laugh was almost inaudible. But 
it was irresistible. Every one in the room joined in, 
whether they knew the cause of amusement or not. 
She frequently held one hand over her face, down 
which the tears were running. With the other she 
was making signals of distress.* Much as these occa- 

♦ " The last remark was levelled at her mother, who had a singular way 
10 



no MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

sions were enjoyed by those around her, it was to her- 
self a real regret that she was so childlike in her mer. 
riment. She learned to dread certain stories and allu- 
sions, as they invariably threw her into one of these 
fits of laughing. Her children and husband, who nat- 
urally most delighted in seeing her laugh, were cau- 
tioned b}^ her not to bring these things up. She assured 
them with an earnestness that they felt obliged to 
respect that she suffered physically as well as mentally 
in her effort at self-control."^ A constant smile was on 
the mother's face even when she was alone, and often- 
times continued when she was asleep. 

Thomas's devotion to her and trust in her judgment 
increased with every year of their married life. He 
often said that her judgment was better than his even 
in business, and that every mistake of his life had been 
committed on the occasions when he had failed to con- 
sult her. AYhen the children asked his consent to any- 
thing his invariable answer was, " Go to your mother." 
This was so well understood that the reply to this was, 
"Mamma sent me to you," as she did when in doubt. 
His delicate, chivalrous attentions to her were unceas- 
ing. He delighted in teasing her, too, because she 
looked so young and pretty when her blushes were 
brought up by his raillery. One unceasing occasion 
of blushing on her part was when he would playfully 
threaten to sing to their assembled sons and daughters, 
now growing to be great boys and girls, the song that 
had won her young heart. He called this a " Die- 
away," and the first line was, "Sweet Sophy, the girl 
that I love." It seemed to be the paraphrase of some 
song that he had adopted to suit his needs when he 
saw that a rival lover was in higher favor than himself, 



of laughing; to wit, shaking all over, without emitting the slightest 
sound, while big tears rolled down her cheeks. Alice was the idol of her 
heart, and her queer freaks of vivacious drollery often set her mother 
off, as at present, into uncontrollable undulations of entirely inaudible 
laughter."— Z>o?i Mijf, p. 69. 

* Sarah Dabney inherited her mother's laugh. " I try to think of 
all the dead people that I know, but I cannot stop laughing," the little 
child aaid, after one of these fits of uncontrollable laughter in school. 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER'S WIFE. HI 

— this was the account that he gave of it, and he said 
that it turned the scale in his favor. After this prelude, 
which was delicious to the listening children, he would 
begin on the first line with every sign of an intention 
of going through to the end. But her violent blushes 
and entreaties always brought it to a close after the 
singing of the first line. He was tenderly solicitous 
about her health, and in a constant state of anxiety if 
she were away from home. He especially disliked to 
have her go out in the carriage unaccompanied by him- 
self. When she went to Eaymond, — to church or to 
8pend the day, — his rule was to ride to meet her at the 
bridge, or before she reached the bridge, across the 
Tallahala Creek. This bridge, being on his land, was 
kept in good order. But she had once been alarmed 
on a bridge when the carriage-horses had stopped and 
run backward, and this left an unpleasant association 
in her mind. Often, when he found that the carriage 
had been ordered out by Sophia for some expedition, 
he would change all his own plans and go with her. 
He grew more and more tenderly anxious as years 
passed, and said that he was never easy a moment 
when she was away. He disliked to be in a car- 
riage, and never got into one if he could avoid it. He 
rode by the side, putting bis face to the window and 
talking to her, and bending to catch her answers. His 
wild thoroughbred Nimrod disliked this, and they had 
many battles over it. Nimrod would leap and spring 
off, and walk on his hind legs in a way that would have 
frightened most wives. 

The journey to the Pass, a distance of one hundred 
and eighty miles, was made overland by Thomas and 
Sophia and the j^oung children and servants. The 
older children, as time went on, were usually sent by 
the river by way of Yicksburg and New Orleans. The 
travellers by land were seven days on the road. For 
the first few years a camp equipage was carried along, 
and the whole party camped out at night. But Thomas 
became acquainted with the countr}^ people along the 
road, and found it more comfortable to engage supper 
and beds in the houses. This arrangement, so satis- 



112 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

factory to the heads of the family, was regretted by 
the children, who took the wildest delight in the 
camping-out experience. For them there was a charm 
in the long shadows of the tall pine-trees stretching 
away in the mysterious darkness like the pillars of 
some vast cathedral, in the soughing of the night-wind 
in the tree-tops, in the scent of the crushed pine-needles 
as we lay down to sleep, and even the far-away howling 
of the wolves, which we heard at one of our camping- 
places, had its fascination. Then it was full of in- 
terest to us to watch the pitching of the tent at night 
and the building of the great camp-fire, and to sit 
around the fire while the busy servants prepared the 
meals. 

Thomas set out on this journey to and from the Pass 
on the same day each year. The country people knew 
when to expect him. A stranger passing through the 
country one of these years saw such extensive arrange- 
ments for supper going forward that he asked why so 
many chickens, etc., were being prepared. The answer 
was that Colonel Dabney and his family always came 
on this day each year. He was looked for at the Pass 
at about two o'clock on the seventh day of the journey. 
One day several gentlemen were conversing at the Pass; 
one of them looked at his watch, and remarked that 
Colonel Dabney would be along in about five minutes. 
He went on to say that he had not heard from him 
since parting with him at the Pass on the preceding 
summer; but he knew his punctual habits. He had 
scarcely gotten through saying this when the carriage 
and wagon and two or three outriders appeared in 
view, and Thomas Dabney was taking ofi" his hat to 
the group. An old friend of his was boasting to him 
one day that he had never been too late for a steam- 
boat or a train. Thomas said that he could say more, 
he had never been near being too late. 

The most remarkable instance of his punctuality is 
in connection with one of his visits to his mother. He 
wrote to her that one year from the date of his letter 
he would be in Eichmond. He did not mention this 
again in his letters to her. She knew his way, and on 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER'S WIFE. 113 

the day set she drove in from Mount Prospect in her 
carriage to meet him. 

The people in the " piney woods" counties of Missis- 
sippi, through which the road from Burleigh to Pass 
Christian lay, were almost totally uneducated. They 
had but little use for money, subsisting on the products 
of their little patches, and cows, pigs, and fowls. They 
were frequently " squatters," living on government 
lands. They raised a bale or two of cotton each j^ear 
to clothe the family and provide for other simple needs. 
They had no cotton-gin, but separated the seed from 
the lint with their fingers. The women spun and wove 
by hand ; with bark and roots of different kinds they 
dyed the cloth intended for the men, but for other pur- 
poses it was left in its native whiteness. The women 
and girls, of whom there seemed to be a good many in 
most of the houses, dressed in white from head to foot. 
The beds were white, white hangings covered the wall 
in different places, and every shelf and dresser had its 
snowy drapery. They showed ingenuity in varying 
the patterns of the fringes and edges that bordered 
these simple decorations. The chairs were made of 
white wood, and were scrubbed until they were almost 
as snowy as the cotton fabrics. The effect was very 
neat and pleasing. One of these simple people said that 
Mrs. Dabney was her idea of how a queen must look. 

The hair of the children was, up to the age of ten 
years, so light as to be almost white; it looked like the 
snowy, silvery hair that comes with great age. 

One man, Mr. Holyfield, was so proud of the single 
letter that he had received in his life that it was posted 
up on the inside of his door. Here, year by year, we 
read it. The^^ had a way of not undressing at night, 
and were quite startled at the first sight of a lady in a 
night-gown. It was our grandmamma Hill. One of 
her family was hastily summoned, and the inquiry made 
if the old lady thought that she was going to die. They 
thought that she was attiring herself in a shroud. 

Our dear mother was known as a friend to the ped- 
dlers who come about the country with packs on their 
backs. They were disliked by many planters, but 
h 10* 



114 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Thomas let her have her way in helping them. One 
day her son Edward was in Yicksburg buying clothes, 
and gave his name to the shopkeeper. The man asked 
if hewere a son of Colonel Dabnej", and being answered 
in the affirmative, was warm in his expressions of grati- 
tude. He had been a peddler, he said, and had been 
most kindly treated at Burleigh. He had heard Mrs. 
Dabney say to her husband, " This man looks sick. 
Why do you not give him a horse ?" " Certainly, my 
dear," was the answer, and when he got ready to tie 
his pack up, a horse was given to him. 

Another peddler who had been helped by her is now 
the owner of a piano-store, and loses no opportunity 
of trying to serve her children, expressing a grateful 
recollection of her kindness. One day a peddler offered 
her ten dollars for a blind mule that he had seen in the 
stable. The mule was never used, but was fed and cared 
for on account of past services. She told him that she 
would not sell the poor beast, but she would give him 
to him on a certain condition. This condition was that 
if he grew tired of him he would not sell him, but bring 
him back to her. The promise was given. But the 
mule was fat and strong, and a good price was offered 
by some one, and the peddler sold him. He was a young 
German. It so happened that another G-erman was in 
the Burleigh house at the time of this transaction, en- 
gaged in papering the walls. He was incensed that the 
lady's kindness should have met with such return at 
the hands of one of his countrymen. He resolved to 
vindicate the honor of the Fatherland by beating the 
recreant peddler every time that he met him. Mrs. 
Dabney remonstrated seriously, and plead the cause of 
the peddler. But it was of no avail. 

The paper-hanger gave the peddler two beatings, and 
tried to beat him a third time. But the peddler turned 
on him, and gave him such a drubbing that the man 
was content to let him alone in the future. Several 
years after this two of Thomas's daughters were at 
Cooper's Wells for a few days. Finding that they 
needed some ribbons and other trifles, they sent their 
maid out to buy them. She returned with the thing!^ 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 115 

and all the money that had been handed her. The 
Bhopkeeper had asked who her young mistresses were, 
and on hearing their name, had refused to receive pay- 
ment. No one of that family could pay for anything 
in his shop, he said. On investigation, he turned out 
to be one of the peddlers whom our mother had 
helped. 

When the fields were burned, in preparation for an- 
other crop, the fires, unless well managed, sometimes 
did mischief. Not infrequently, too, the negroes in their 
coon-hunts left their half-extinguished torches about, 
with no thought of the dangerous proximity of valuable 
property. One Sunday the cry was raised that the 
fences were burning. The master hurried to the fire 
with the men who could be called, and after a hard fight 
it was put out. Edward, who was now quite a lad, had 
run to the fire. He perceived that another part of the 
fence was afire and that it was fast running along the 
dried grass to the ginhouse. There was no time to get 
help. He beat it out and subdued it unassisted, and 
was nearly fainting when his father found him. He 
sent him back to the house, while he and the negroes 
completed the work. Edward did not tell any one of 
what he had done. When his father came, he said that 
the boy had saved ten thousand dollars for him a few 
hours before, at the risk of his life. Thomas did not 
readily express his affection for his children at this 
period of his life, but a few words, "That was right, 
my son," or " my child," with the fond, lingering touch 
on the head, were felt to mean far more than the words 
expressed. 



CHAPTER X. 

A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 



Perhaps no life was more independent than that of 
a Southern planter before the late war. One of the 
Mississippi neighbors said that he would rather ha 



116 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER 

Colonel Dabney on his plantation than the President 
of the United States. 

Managing a plantation was something like managing 
a kingdom. The ruler had need of a great store, not 
only of wisdom, but of tact and patience as well. 

When there was trouble in the house the real kind- 
ness and sympathy of the servants came out. They 
seemed to anticipate every wish. In a thousand touch- 
ing little ways they showed their desire to give all the 
comfort and help that lay in their povver. They seemed 
to claim a right to share in the sorrow that was their 
master's, and to make it their own. It was small 
wonder that the master and mistress were forbearing 
and patient when the same servants who sorrowed 
with them in their affliction should, at times, be per- 
verse in their days of prosperity. Many persons said 
that the Burleigh servants were treated with over- 
indulgence. It is true that at times some of them acted 
like spoiled children, seeming not to know what they 
would have. Nothing went quite to their taste at these 
times. The white family would say among themselves, 
''What is the matter now? Why these martyr-like 
looks?" Mammy Maria usually threw light on these 
occasions. She was disgusted with her race for posing 
as martyrs when there was no grievance. A striking 
illustration of this difficulty in making things run 
smoothly occurred one summer, when the family was 
preparing to go to the Pass. The mistress made out her 
list of the servants whom she wished to accompany her. 
She let them know that they were to be allowed extra 
time to get their houses and clothes in order for the 
three months' absence from home. Some of them 
answered with tears. It would be cruel to be torn 
from home and friends, perhaps husband and children, 
and not to see them for all that time. Sophia regret- 
fully made out a new list, leaving out the most clamor- 
ous ones. There were no tears shed nor mournful looks 
given by the newly elected, for dear to the colored 
heart was the thought of change and travel. It was a 
secret imparted by'Mammy Maria to her mistress that 
great was the disappointment of those who had over- 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 117 

acted their part, thereby cutting themselves off from a 
much-coveted pleasure. 

Thomas was never an early riser. He maintained 
that it did not so much matter when a man got up as 
what he did after he was up. He woke up in the 
morning as gay as a boy, and when Sophia, fully 
dressed, informed him that it was time to get up, re- 
ceived the announcement with one of his liveliest tunes. 
That was the only answer usually to the first summons 
or two. She could not help laughing; no one could 
who heard him. When she remonstrated he sang only 
the more gayly. 

Every one knew when he was awake by the merry 
sounds proceeding from his chamber. He did not go 
-in to breakfast till he had danced the Fisher's Hornpipe 
for the baby, singing along with the steps and drawing 
an imaginary bow across imaginary strings. All the 
nursery flocked about him at the signal, one or two of 
the little tots joining in the capering. This habit he 
kept up to the end of his life, and his grown children 
would smile as they heard the cheery notes sounding 
through the house on his awaking. Then he walked 
with his quick, half-military step, the laugh still on his 
face, into the dining-room, where breakfast was already 
in progress. It was not a ceremonious meal he main- 
tained. Dinner was a ceremonious meal in his house. 
Every one was expected to be read}^, and sitting with 
the family in the hall or drawing-room or dining-room 
not less than five minutes before the last bell was rung. 
If there was a lady guest, the master of the house 
handed her in to dinner. If the guest was a gentleman, 
he was expected to hand in one of the ladies, as 
Thomas showed by offering his arm to one. 

He was the life of the company, as he sat at the foot 
of his own table. Many of his most amusing anecdotes 
and stories, as well as those of deeper meaning, are as- 
sociated with the dinner-table. No one could fill his 
place when he was absent. 

He was often absent, being called from home by 
matters of business or duty or pleasure. In addition to 
spending some time every other summer with his 



118 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

mother in Yirginia, and going occasionally to New 
York, and two weeks every fall on the deer-hunt, he 
made frequent visits to New Orleans, Yicksburg, and 
Jackson, and occasional visits to other places. He 
rarely spent a week without passing a day with Au- 
gustine. 

In travelling on steamboats, if alone, he always se- 
lected for himself the state-room just over the boiler. 
If the boat were to blow up, he said he should prefer 
being killed outright to running a risk of being only 
half killed, or of being maimed for life. It need hardly 
be added that he found no difficulty in securing his 
chosen state-room. 

His interest in public affairs sometimes called him off 
to distant cities. 

January always found him in New Orleans for a 
three weeks' visit. After attending to his business with 
his commission merchants and buying the plantation 
supplies, he enjoyed the pleasures of this brilliant city. 
He was a member of the Boston Club, and he there 
met the most interesting and distinguished citizens of 
New Orleans. One of the chief attractions of this 
place was the game of whist to be had there. He was 
considered authority on whist. A game that he once 
played at the Greenbrier White Sulphur Springs, in 
Yirginia, was considered remarkable. His old friend, 
Mr. John Tabb, of Whitemarsh, Gloucester County, had 
invited him to a game of whist in his cottage at the 
Springs. Three whist-players of known skill were in- 
vited to play with him, and a company invited to wit- 
ness the game. During the evening a singular incident 
took place. Twelve cards had been played out of each 
hand, leaving each gentleman with his thirteenth 
card only. At this point Thomas Dabney said to 
them that he wished to call their attention to a singular 
coincidence in the fact that every man present held in 
his hand a nine. When the cards were laid on the 
table this was seen to be true, to the surprise of all. 
One gentleman said he could show a more remarkable 
thing than that, it was the man who knew it. 

He was never but once a candidate for any office in 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 119 

Mississippi ; that was for the State Legislature. He 
was defeated by one vote. The contest was strictly a 
party one, and all the candidates on the Whig ticket 
were defeated by their Democratic opponents. 

Thomas Dabney was enthusiastic in his admiration 
of Henry Clay, and followed his career w^ith the deepest 
interest. He seemed almost to know Mr. Clay's speeches 
by heart, and delighted in talking of him and quoting 
his brilliant sayings. " I had rather be right than 
President" was a great utterance, he said. He con- 
tracted a warm personal friendship for him, and was 
anxious to accept Mr. Clay's invitation to visit him at 
Ashland. But my mother objected. She knew that 
the great statesman had his failings as well as his vir- 
tues. She had a very gentle way of objecting, but her 
gentle way was a law to him. He yielded, and did not 
go. He greatly admired S. S. Prentiss, and enjoyed 
having a visit from him at the Pass Christian house. 

The National Intelligencer was the most ably con. 
ducted paper in the United States, in his opinion. He 
kept it on file. In sending on his subscription his cus- 
tom was to send twenty-five dollars at a time. 

His lively interest in public affairs made him write a 
good deal for the pubHc press. Unfortunately, the 
many papers stowed away with his articles in thera 
have been destroyed. 

Tutors were employed to teach in the family until 
the boys were old enough to be sent off to college. In 
order to make the boys study with more interest, the 
children of the neighbors were received into the school. 
When the three sons were sent off to college, a gov- 
erness was employed to teach the daughters. The 
teachers at Burleigh were treated like guests and 
friends. Thomas said that he did not wish any but 
ladies to have the charge of his daughters, and they 
should be treated as ladies. Miss D3'ott, the beloved 
governess, who lived in the house five years, loved the 
family like dear relatives. When Mrs. Moncure's daugh- 
ter was taken as a pupil along with his daughters, he 
handed to Miss Dyott, in addition to her salary, the 
money paid for this child's tuit'on. She objected, and 



120 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

said that another pupil or two would really make her 
school-duties more interesting to his daughters and to 
herself; but he was firm, and she had to receive the 
money. 

During her stay at Burleigh, when there was com- 
pany to dinner, the master of the house took her in on 
his arm. At her death, many years later, the Burleigh 
family stood around her grave with her family as 
mourners. 

It may be said that all honest men who had business 
transactions with Thomas Dabney became his personal 
friends. It was evident that he did not wish to get the 
advantage of any one. Several of his overseers soon 
became able to buy farms of their own, and grew to be 
rich men. He was so liberal in his dealings with them, 
that it was said they made as much in fattening and 
selling their riding-horses as their salaries amounted 
to. He was often cheated and imposed upon. Instead 
of worrying over it, he said he was very glad that he 
had found the scoundrels out. 

The first tutor in the family was a young Yirginian 
of high culture. He taught the sons — Charles, Yir- 
ginius, and Edward — for nine j^ears, and during the last 
few years some of the older girls went into the school- 
room along with their brothers. Thomas regarded 
this young man almost like a son. Always unsuspi- 
cious, he was slow in perceiving that he was falling into 
dissipated habits. He was attached to Thomas, and 
valued his good opinion so much that he was able to 
control himself when with him. But he found that the 
love of drink was getting too strong for him. He joined 
a temperance society, hoping to get self-control in this 
way. In an hour of weakness he broke his pledge. 
He no longer had respect for himself, and resolved on 
self-destruction. But he could not carry it into effect 
while under the influence of the strong character of 
Thomas Dabney. 

When the time came for the household to go to 
Pass Christian, whither the tutors and governesses 
were always pressed to go as guests, he steadily re- 
fused to accompany them, as he had done in the pre* 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 121 

ceding summer. He had made every arrangement to 
kill -himself as soon as Thomas should be gone. " I 
have too much respect for Colonel Dabney to kill my- 
self in his house," he had said to a gentleman in the 
neighborhood. He went to a neighboring plantation 
and cut his throat that night. The body was sent to 
Eaymond for interment, and was put by the side of the 
two boys, Thomas and James Dabney. At once, on 
bearing of this, Thomas wrote to Augustine to have 
the remains of the unhappy man taken up. ISTo suicide, 
he said, should rest by the side of his pure children. 

It is a singular coincidence that the suicide of another 
teacher in his family, a German music-teacher, took 
place during his absence, and it was thought that if 
Thomas Dabney had been at home it would not have 
occurred. This man became so much attached to him 
as to be hardly happy out of his house. His visits to 
Burleigh became more and more frequent and longer, 
until finally he had his trunks brought with him. 
Thomas was passionately fond of music. He had in 
vain tried to persuade an accomplished Belgian vio- 
linist to move to Burleigh with his wife and child to 
live there. The hundred-dollar bill that accompanied 
the invitation had its effect, and he spent some weeks 
there. It is possible that he would have prolonged his 
stay but for being afraid to i^lay on his violin on Sun- 
days. He consulted the German governess in the fam- 
ily on this point in his native language, the French, 
in the hearing of some of the family, who understood 
French. The governess advised him not to play on his 
violin. So Sunday got to be a long day with him, and 
he and his wife and little " Carlito" went awa3\ Sophia 
was not sorry to see him go, although when he played 
with the tears running down his face, she herself felt 
moved by the divine music which seemed to come from 
his very heart. All the more she felt that her husband 
and children were getting too much absorbed by it. 
Sometimes the artist improvised for hours, walking up 
and down the room, his eyes rolled upward in an 
ecstasy, — then exhaustion followed, and strong coffee 
was called for to steady the overstrained nerves. At 
V 11 



122 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

these times the whole house was absorbed in the musi. 
cian and his music. It was all too exciting and intoxi- 
cating for every -day life. 

The violin was Thomas's favorite instrument. The 
German music-teacher did not play on the violin, but 
he was a brilliant performer on the piano and a good 
backgammon player. These two accomplishments, with 
a quiet, unobtrusive manner, made him a welcome in 
mate of the house. He was careless and indolent in 
his music lessons, and these had ceased long before he 
came to the house to live. But he was ready to play 
when music was wanted in the evenings, and was never 
tired of the mid-day game of backgammon, when Thomas 
came back from his ride^ on the plantation. 

One summer, when the whole family went to Vir- 
ginia, he concluded that he would stay on at Burleigh 
rather than give up his room. He explained once, 
when invited to spend the night away from Burleigh, 
that he could not sleep well except at " home." The 
family stayed longer than he expected in Virginia. 
They were detained by the yellow fever, which was 
raging in some of the cities through which the route 
home lay. The man grew morbidly anxious to see 
Thomas, the only human being for whom he was ever 
known to show affection in America. He went to 
Vicksburg to meet him, and there heard that there was 
still further delay, as the fever had broken out afresh. 
He became despondent and began to drink. When 
Thomas reached home he had been dead two days. 
He had blown his brains out with a revolver. 

Charles, the eldest son, was ready for college in the 
fall of 1846. He was at this time sixteen years old. 
He was sent to the college of William and Mary in 
Virginia. In the following winter Thomas had the 
only serious illness that attacked him during the fifty 
years that he lived in Mississippi. On February 13 
Sophia wrote to her pon: 

"My dear Charley, — This day I have received 
two letters from you, one dated the 20th of January to 
me and the other the Ist of February to Virginius and 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 123 

your papa. I have been uneasy abont you, for I had 
not received a letter from you for three weeks. But 
your papa had more philosophy than I had. He said 
he was not at all uneasy. . . . Your papa is a good 
deal better. To-day he ate two doves at dinner, and 
he and Mr. Garlick drove out in the carriage. He 
has a very great appetite. He is not allowed to sit at 
my table. . . . 

" I am afraid you will be disappointed when you see 
Sarah. She is at an ugly age. Sue has improved very 
much. I think she is equally as pretty as Sarah ia 
now. But you have not the least idea how perfectly 
beautiful Emmy is. When Mr. Dimitry first saw hei 
he was astonished, and exclaimed that she was a mag- 
nificent child. I never saw such a pair of eyes. HeT 
skin is very fair, her cheeks rosy, and her countenance 
all amiability. She is very much caressed. Sue talks 
more about you than any of the children. She dreams 
about you occasionally. She dreamed a few nights ago 
that you had come home and brought a wife with you. 
She was quite disappointed when she opened her eyes 
and found it was a dream." . . . 

Before this letter was sealed Sophia was bidden to 
add a postscript : 

" Dear Charles, I have now something to write for 
your papa, as he is not able to write. He says that he 
is dissatisfied with your way of going on. You are 
spending too much money. You speak of the one 
hundred and eighty-seven dollars lately received with 
a levity that shocked him exceedingly. You say that 
it will last you some time. He says you are right, for 
it will last 5^ou till next fall. Are you aware that you 
have had about nine hundred dollars from your father? 
Do you think that he can afford such sums to you and do 
justice to his other children? If you do you are mis- 
taken. But you know better. Be wise, therefore, and 
retrace your steps before it is too late. Your father 
will write as soon as he can. Your devoted mother, 

" S. D." 



124 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

It must have cost the mother-heart a pang to write 
thus to her dutiful, affectionate boy. Not until more 
than two months had passed was this matter explained 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

" Raymond, 19tli April, 1847. 
"My dear Son, — Your mother's letter to you of the 
15th was read by me and approved. This is probably aa 
much as you would wish me to say, but I shall say some- 
thing more, as it is due to you. To begin with your 
mother's postscript, written at my dictation. I made 
her say that the one hundred and eighty-seven dollars 
would last you some time ; ' Yes, it shall last you some 
time ; until next fall.' Your reply to this is in these 
words : ' Now, my dear father, I will certainly make it 
last as long as I can. It will last me unless I have a doc- 
tor's bill to pay, which I hope will not be the case. I 
know how hard you work for this money, etc., etc.,' and, 
after saying other things, you conclude with, ' If I have 
been too extravagant this year, I will not be so again.' 
This reply does you more honor than any act of your 
life. It is a perfectly dutiful, respectful, and affectionate 
reply to a cruel and unjust injunction from your father, 
carrying with it an equally cruel and unjust imputation. 
But you were not unmindful that it came from your 
father. I will now explain. During my illness I was 
kept for many days under the influence of opium in 
large quantities. But I slept not. On the contrarj^, my 
imagination was haunted by horrible visions. I took 
up strange fancies having no foundation, but firmly 
believed in, notwithstanding. I thought of you, my 
absent one, when all others were freed from their 
earthly cares by sleep. During this time letters accu- 
mulated ; and your mother asked me one day (it appears 
to have been on the 13th of February by your letter) 
if I would like to hear any of them read. I told her 
to read yours to me, but none others. One of yours 
acknowledged the receipt of the one hundred and 
eighty-seven dollars, with the remark that you would 
not have to call for any more for some time. Now, 
although I well knew before I was taken sick that you 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 125 

would want this one hundred and eighty-seven dollars 
by the time you could get it from Grloucester, and al- 
though I entertained great doubts about its sufficiency 
to carry you through the session, yet, at that moment 
of a distempered imagination, your remark above 
quoted struck me as extraordinary. I thought you 
had had a great deal of money. I confounded what I 
gave Christopher with what I gave you, — that you had 
each received two hundred and fifty dollars, and that 
you had received a like sum from your grandmother. 
This fancy of a sick brain became a fixed idea, and re- 
mained so even after my recovery ; for it never occurred 
V;0 me that it was false, and, consequently, it could need 
no investigation. I never knew better until I read the 
statement in your letter of the 2d instant. I have now 
acknowledged my fault ; not esteeming it as a degra- 
dation for a parent to acknowledge his faults to his 
children. On the contrary, I should hold that parent 
irretrievably disgraced who should make the futile at- 
tempt (it must ever be futile) to conceal them by bold- 
ness or by an affected obtuseness. 

" Under all the painful circumstances of the two let- 
ters from your mother and the one from me of the 1st 
of March, I cannot blame you much for your proposi- 
tions concerning the army and navy and West Point. 
These propositions, coming at the time they do, and 
coupled with the assurance or remark that should 
you get to West Point you will not want me to give 
you anything more, looks as though j^ou apprehended I 
might feel you to be burdensome. Now, my dear child, 
how you have mistaken me if this is, or ever was, for 
one moment your idea. You know but little of your 
father, of the depth of his love for you, of the vigils he 
has kept, is keeping, and expects to keep, till the last 
jjulsation of his heart, on your behalf if you think 
thifi of him. No, my dear child, you never were a 
Durden to me. The day you are felt to be such, or the 
day on which any of my children are felt to be such, 
will be a sad one in their poor father's house, — for poor 
he will then be indeed ! 

" I never made any objection to your going to West 

a* 



126 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Point, because I consider it a good school, where a good, 
though not a perfect, education may be acquired. 1 
therefore acceded to what I believed to be your wish, 
and made an effort to get you in there. This I did 
because I am not one of those who think that parents 
know everything and children nothing. But the fea- 
ture in it which would exempt me from paying your 
way is a positive and very great objection with me. 
It was not necessary that I should say so at that time, 
and I did not, because I did not choose to object in any 
way to promoting your wish. I will not make the ob- 
jection insurmountable now, but will keep a standing 
application there in your behalf if you wish it. I will 
make it my business to interest General Foote, one of 
our Senators, in your behalf if it be possible for a Whig 
to find any favor with the present administration. As 
to what you say about the navy or getting a lieuten- 
ancy in the army, I cannot think of such a thing, my 
dear son, as your education would be nothing if arrested 
now, as it would be in such a case. Indeed, I hope that 
those notions have been put to flight by what I have 
already written. 

"I shall not wish you to be more economical than 
you have been. You might have spared the assertion 
that you lost none of it at cards, as neither your mother 
nor myself ever doubted your honor for the millionth 
part of a second. You will not sit at cards during your 
college life, because I asked you not to do it. With the 
degree of A.M. in your pocket you can do as you wish 
in this respect. 

"Unless you expect me to be more unfortunate in 
my efforts than I have been, I see no reason why you 
should say that you will want nothing more from me 
than a good education. I expect to educate my chil- 
dren without impairing my property. If I do this, 
they will divide what I have and what I may hereafter 
acquire (if any) equally among them. 

"If you would not mortify me you will not let me 
find you next summer without an ample supply of 
reasonable clothing and every other thing proper for a 
gentleman. Keward such servants and others as de- 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 127 

serve rewards at your hands. Do not leave "Williams- 
burg without impressing it indelibly on the recollec- 
tions of all with whom you have had associations that 
you are a gentleman. It is too late now for me to 
make any remittance to enable you to meet these views, 
but you can call upon your grandmother for any sum 
that may be necessary, and I will return it to her on 
the 1st of July. 

" Your ever devoted father, 

" Thos. S. Dabney." 

In the summer of 1846 Sophia wrote to her hus- 
band : 

"Pass Christian. 
" I do want to see you very much, but I want you to 
remain a little longer with your friends, your mother 
particularly, you have not seen her for such a length 
of time. I know how I should feel when so long sep- 
arated from a beloved son. ... I do not like to make 
you unhappy one moment. I tell you all my griev- 
ances and all my joys." 

She had made some allusion to the drunkenness of 
the tutor. Her English gardener had given her trouble 
in the same way. 

On the 4th of November of this fall (1846) the sev- 
enth son was born. It was the anniversary of the 
birth of Sarah, now eight years old. She had received 
the name of her father's mother, and the infant boy 
was called Benjamin, after his father. 

The Mexican war fever was running high now. 
Thomas had given his epaulettes and his two-yards- 
wide silken sash, that could pass through a lady's 
finger-ring, to the captain of the Eaymond Fencibles. 
Even the little children in the nursery cried out that 
the Mexicans were firing when the fire crackled. 
Charles had a leaning towards a soldier's life, and his 
ardor was inflamed. His pleadings to be allowed to 
follow a military career were so earnest that his parents 
yielded a reluctant consent. The Mississippi Senator, 
Governor Henry S. Foote, was a personal friend. Ap« 



128 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

plication was made through him to the War Office, and 
the appointment for West Point came in due time. 
Charles knew that at heart his parents were unwilling 
for him to go into the army, and after receiving the 
commission he felt that he could not conscientiously 
act in opposition to their known wishes. He decided 
to throw up the appointment, thus sacrificing his am- 
bition to filial obedience. 

A letter written before he had made up his mind to 
this sacrifice is not without interest, as it shows the 
enthusiasm of the boy, and we can the better under- 
stand the effort that it cost him to give up all hope of 
being a soldier; 

CHARLES TO HIS TATHER. 

" Williamsburg, April 9, 1847. 
"According to the most disinterested accounts I have 
seen of the battle of Buena Vista, our gallant regiment 
has covered itself with laurels that will never fade. 
Taylor, too, has shown himself to be one of the ablest 
tacticians the world has ever produced. Twelve 
months ago you thought him one of the most egregious 
fools that ever headed an army. I recollect saying to 
you at the time that there was no officer, in my opinion, 
who could better represent the true character of the 
American soldier. Our volunteers, too, how much were 
they hooted at, and particularly their commanding 
officers ! The mortality among our colonels in the late 
battle will show to the world that the highest compli- 
ment that can be paid to any soldier, whether regular 
or volunteer, is to say that he is equal to an American 
volunteer colonel. Out of six colonels that we had on 
the field five were either killed or wounded, and every 
one who was not instantaneously killed fought lying 
on his back. After this battle we may all be proud to 
say that we are Mississippians. Look at the veteran 
coolness with which they received the charge of the 
Mexican cavalry. Look at the Southern impetuosity 
with which they threw themselves into every danger- 
ous position. The killed and wounded all go to prove 
it. Out of four hundred, one hundred and fifty were 



A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 129 

either killed or wounded, a loss almost unparalleled. 
Her glory has cost her much, but to have lost her 
honor would have been an expense far greater. The 
Raymond Fencibles, from the list of her killed and 
wounded, has suffered greatly, and may truly be said 
to have performed its dut}^, — nearly half either killed 
or wounded, perhaps more than half I do not know 
how small it was at the battle. Judging from the 
regiment, which' was nine hundred and thirty when I 
was at Yicksburg, and now only four hundred, I think 
that more than half were killed. Downing I do not 
suppose was there; perhaps for the best; he might have 
been killed. He distinguished himself at Monterey, so 
much so that General Taylor mentioned him in his 
despatches. Your epaulettes and sash could not have 
been intrusted in better hands. . . . Yera Cruz is re- 
ported to be taken ; if so, we will certainly get to 
Mexico now, unless the Mexicans sue for peace very 
shortly. G-eneral Scott is pushing ahead very rapidly. 
We are certainly a land of soldiers. . . . 

" I have already told you, I know, my dear father, 
about the war news, and told you only those things 
that you knew. But you must excuse me. I know 
that had I been with you I should certainly have 
talked in the same way. I have no one here to talk to 
me about the Mississippi regiment, and therefore I 
have to write you whatever I want to say about it. 
Perhaps the Raymond G-azette may contain a more de- 
tailed account of the conduct of the Ra^miond Fen- 
cibles. If 5'ou have it I would be very glad for you to 
send it to me. You have no idea how much interest I 
take in everything connected with that company. . . . 

"I do not think that I will ever come here again. 
There is too much frolicking and too much to attract 
one's attention. There are three or four, or sometimes 
fifteen, drunken students here a day. As far as the 
faculty is concerned, it is second to no college in 
America, but a great deal more depends on the student 
than on the professors. It matters not how learned 
the professors are, if the students frolic they will not 
learn much. . . . 



130 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN- PLANTER. 

" I wish most seriously that I had gone as a private 
in the Raymond Fencibles. ... I can learn how to be 
a fine soldier, which is all that I want to be." . . . 



CHAPTEE XL 

HOME LIFE. 



It was just after the close of the war with Mexico — 
in the summer of 1848 — that G-eneral Zachary Taylor, 
who had been nominated by the Whigs for the Presi- 
dency, and was travelling from point to point, came to 
Pass Christian. 

Our father's well-known and stanch Whig principles 
clearly entitled him to take a leading part in the politi- 
cal demonstrations which were here held in honor of 
the victorious general ; and he was, accordingly, made 
chairman of the committee of reception. After meet- 
ing him at the boat, he brought him in his private car- 
riage to his own house, which was at that time one of 
the largest in the village, and singularly well adapted 
(with its veranda stretching seventy feet along the 
front and proportionally wide) to accommodate the 
throng of people who were to come on the morrow to 
be presented to G-eneral Taylor. The following morn- 
ing at an early hour the visitors began to arrive, of 
both sexes and of all ages, — in carriages, wagons, on 
horseback, on foot, and in boats. All day long as they 
came, they were received by Thomas and introduced 
to the general, and after a little time had been allowed 
for conversation, were invited to the refreshment- 
tables. 

With unflagging zeal throughout this summer's day 
he looked after the welfare and saw to the comfort of 
all who came. If he singled out any one and showed 
him any special attention, it was the humblest there, 
— a lad, whose poor old mother dwelt in a dilapidated 
hut, and whose worldly possessions could well have 



HOME LIFE. 131 

been represented by zero. Him he led up to the 

general, saying, "Allow me to introduce to you , 

the son of my old friend, Mrs. . Who knows but 

what he, too, may not be a candidate for the highest 
office within the gift of the people?" General Taylor, 
after cordially shaking hands with the lad, put his hand 
on his head, and in the kindest tones said, " Yes, my son, 
to him who earnestly strives all things are possible." 

The hero of many a hotly-contested battle won the 
hearts of us children (for most of us were children in 
1848) by his guileless ways and simple, unaffected 
manners. 

There came with him his suite, consisting of Colonel 
Craughn, a gray-headed veteran, who, when a young 
officer, at the head of but forty men, had obstinately 
and victoriously held a log fort against the repeated 
assaults of hundreds of hostile Indians, and Major 
Garnett, then a brave and handsome young soldier, 
who afterwards, having risen to the rank of general, 
fell fighting gallantly for his section in the late civil 
war. And in addition to these two, his own son. Cap- 
lain Eichard Taylor, who, in the same war, rose to 
eminence by reason of his gallantry and ability.* 

Thomas had all the nursery, as well as the older chil- 
dren, to go to the pier to see General Taylor land. 
Some of the little ones became alarmed at the crowd 
and the shouting and began to cry. Thomas took a 
child on each arm, and, with a third clinging to his 
leg, received the hero of Mexico. The old soldier had 
a father's heart under his rough exterior. He kissed 
the little trio amid the waving of hats and cheers of 
the hundreds gathered to welcome him. 

During his visit to Thomas an incident occurred that 
amused him. 

He served one of the little girls sitting near him at 
table to butter, on which she frankly informed him that 
her mamma had forbidden her to eat that butter, that 
it was intended for him. The good-natured general 
led the laugh that followed this little disclosure. 

* The above account of General Taylor's visit was written by Edward, 



132 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

He was reminded by this, be said, of a little scene 
tbat be bad witnessed at a bousC in wbicb be was a 
visitor. Happening to look ont of bis bedroom window 
before going down to breakfast, be saw a lady explain- 
ing to ber cbild bow sbe was to bebave herself, " for 
General Taylor is here," sbe said, and sbe was empha- 
sizing ber instructions by shaking a switch over the 
youngster's bead. 

During the week in the Pass Christian house he said 
many interesting things. One day be spoke of the im- 
possibility of satisfying people in this world, and illus- 
trated it with an incident in his own experience. Hear- 
ing an old and favorite negro servant of bis say that 
she would be perfectly happy if she bad a hundred 
dollars, be gave a hundred dollars to her. As be left 
the room, he heard ber say regretfully, " I wish that I 
bad said two hundred." 



MRS. MACON TO HER SON THOMAS DABNET. 

"Mount Prospect, October 5, 1848. 
" That you have been highly complimented by G-en- 
eral Taylor's marked attention to you there can be no 
doubt, and I congratulate you on the event. But, my 
son, take care. Flattery is an intoxicating draft : we 
all like it ; but, although sweet to the taste, it some- 
times leaves a bitter behind it. Cardinal Wolsey said 
too much honor would sink a navy. Dryden said honor 
is an empty bubble. So that too much importance 
should not be attached to it." 

MRS. MACON TO HER SON THOMAS DABNEY. 

"Mount Prospect, November 25, 1848. 
... "I congratulate you and my country on General 
Taylor's election, and trust and hope our halcyon days 
are returning. . . . The longer I live the less I think 
of earthly honors. General Taylor is a great man, and 
I hope he will honor the Presidency. It will not honor 
him, I think, after the scoundrels tbat preceded him. 
Only think of the changes in our country ! I lived in 
tho days that wise patriots ruled. Such men as we 



/ HOME LIFE. J30 

have in high offices now are not fit for door-keepers for 
them. In my day the suffrages of the people was a 
sure sign that the person voted for was worthy the 
trust given him, and now it is only a sign that the 
people are corrupt, and choose one of their own sort to 
help them out m their corruption. 

. . "I want to know the name of your daughter." 

rpnl.TfVi-'''rP''^'^"^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^ad known 
General Washington personally, and to whom he was 
Cousin Geoi-ge," should find the times degenerate 
under some, at least, of his successors. 

Ihe little girl referred to was Ida, born this fall. 

CHARLES TO HIS MOTHER. 

a T +u- ^"VlV^^^^^J, 0^ ViRGmiA, All-Fools' Day, 1849. 
... I think father did precisely right in not recom- 
mending any one to General Taylor; for to recommend 
a person, however worthy he may be, to another upon 
whom you have no claim is a very delicate thino-. 1 
suppose Mr Mayson is getting on well with the chil- 
ZT: \^uha^e not mentioned anything about them 
of late. Tell the boys if they study hard now they will 
not find much difficulty at college. Just get their 
ramds m good training and half the battle is accom- 
plished. There are many young men here who have 
very good minds who cannot study. It is all owin^ to 
tbeir not mastering their minds when youn^. That is 
an advantage which I have over many. My mind has 
always been completely under my control and well 
trained, though most unprofitably and unphilosophically 
employed while I was at school Eemember me to 

d Grannie Harriet. I know that it will please the 
old lady to know that I often think of her." 

Some time after this Mrs. Lewis Chamberlayne wrote 
to Charles : "Your father has just written me of the 
death of old Harriet. He wrote of it as of the death 

01 an old friend." 

The almost fatherly feeling of this young brother of 



134 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

nineteen for his younger brothers and sisters is shown 
in his letters at this period. 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

" Montrose, August 2, 1849. 
" I promised that you should hear from me again on 
the same subject, and that I would endeavor to give 
some reasons why boys should be sent to a public school 
a year or two before entering college. 

" First of all, confined at home as I was, and as 1 
suppose ray j^ounger brothers will be if they follow the 
same course, they must necessarily be ignorant of the 
world, and also inexperienced in resisting the many 
temptations which await them when they come forth. 
They go immediately to college, the worst of all places, 
— a place in which vice appears in its most alluring 
and irresistible form. The transition is too sudden, — 
from a nursery to a college where they are treated as 
men, and where they feel it incumbent on themselves to 
act as such. Mistaken though in what they think be 
comes a man, how can it be expected that in ninety- 
nine cases out of a hundred they will not be guilty of 
the most foolish excesses? ^j what I have said I 
merely intend to give you a faint conception of what 
my feelings were when I went to college. I was cer- 
tainly very ignorant of many things, which the sim- 
plicity of my first letters plainly indicates, which things 
I would have known had I gone to a public school or 
mixed much in society. 

" In the second place, boys educated at home never 
go as well prepared in their studies. You can rarely find 
a single person (one person) able to prepare boys in Latin, 
Greek, mathematics, and French sufficiently to enter a 
HIGH class in a college of high standing. College is 
no place to learn the rudiments of anything. It is ex- 
pected that the boys should know them before they go. 
Consequently, they are not taught with any particular 
care. I knew a good deal of Latin and Greek when I 
went to college, but the inside of a mathematical or 
French book I had never seen. Now, my dear father, 
you cannot but be convinced of the insuperable disad- 



HOME LIFE. 135 

vantages under which I entered college ; and you can- 
not fail to pardon the warmth with which I advocate 
the pursuit of a different course with regard to my 
brothers. However, if you detect any error in my 
reasoning I hope you will not fail to say so. I know 
that I am not infallible. I have often thought wrong 
and done wrong, and been utterly unconscious of it at 
the time. I hope you will not think that I mean to 
blame any one with regard to the course that was pur- 
sued by me. (Yes, I do blame Mr. G-. for pretending 
to prepare me for college when he never had seen the 
inside of one.) I know that it was your overfondness 
for me which made you keep me at home as long as 
you could. I am sensible, too, that you spared no pains 
to have me prepared in the very best way, and that 
you conscientiously believed that the one you had 
marked out was the very best, — as it certainly was the 
most expensive. The great care, then, with which you 
have watched over my education, — the many hours of 
solicitude which I have cost you, — all these, my dear 
father, conspire to make me still more sensible of what 
I owe you, and to incite me to still greater exertions ; 
but, should the realization of my loftiest hopes be at- 
tained, I trust that I shall not be so narrow-minded as 
to believe that my debt is wholly paid. Under these 
circumstances, then, you cannot fail to pardon me for 
so much deploring the many disadvantages under which 
I entered the grand arena of education, and for lament- 
ing that I cannot prove myself as worthy as I would 
wish of your great confidence and affection. I shall 
make the attempt to come up to your expectations,—- 
in such a noble cause defeat itself will be glorious." 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

"University of Virginia, September 29, 1849. 
. . . " ] am truly glad that Sarah has been put with 
a governess. I have not been as much pleased at any- 
thing in a long time. She ought to have every advan- 
tage. There is a magnificence, a loftiness of character 
about her that I never saw in a child, and I can hardly 
say in a grown person. She is bound to be a great 



136 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

woman, though she may live in retirement. I think 
that her traits of character are more prominent than 
those Qf any child I ever saw. Let her, then, have every 
opportunity; and do not think that because she is a 
woman an}^ kind of education will be sufficient for her 
to keep house. I know you do not think this, yet there 
are many who constantly say that a woman ought not 
to be well educated, — that any kind of education will 
be enough for a housekeeper, and that a ver}^ intelli- 
gent and accomplished woman is likely to make a bad 
wife. Of course those who say this possess the most 
narrow, grovelling, and contemptible souls, which will 
never soar beyond their own self-importance. And if 
an educated woman does not make a good wife, it is 
because the man who received her hand was unworthy 
of it, and because it was the hand of a slave, and not 
of a wife and an equal, that was the object of his desire. 
My thus defending the fair sex will be ascribed to my 
age. I have no particular one in view." 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

" Universitt of Virginia, March 5, 1850. 

" I was not introduced to General Taylor. It would 
have afforded me great pleasure ; but he was to be there 
so short a time, his presence was such a novelty, ho 
had done so much shaking of hands, and must have 
been so tired, that I could not force myself into his 
presence under the belief that there was a possibility 
that the addition of any company whatsoever would 
be agreeable. Dr. Chamberlayne was introduced to 
him on the night of the 21st inst., and the old general 
spoke of you, mother and the children with enthu- 
siasm. ... I have noticed the Whig and Democratic 
parties very narrowly for the last month, and have come 
to this conclusion without hesitation, viz., that there 
IS N*T ANY difference at all between them. If you 
ask a Democrat why he had rather Cass should have 
been elected than Taylor, he will say. Because he is 
safer on the Wilmot proviso. If you ask a Whig, he 
will say that Taylor is the safer. The United States 
Bank is dead forever. They differ, you see, only with 



HOME LIFE 137 

V 
regard to men. . . . Those two men,* should there be 
a dissolution, will obtain the direction of affairs in the 
Southern republic. Calhoun has been at the point of 
death for some time, but I believe and sincerely trust 
that he is now better. He is the greatest statesman in 
America, and Lord Brougham says that we can only 
do him justice if we say in the world, not such an orator 
as Henry Clay, but as far above him as the great orb 
of heaven is above the glow-worm, — in purity resem- 
bling Washington, in intellect Jefferson. I am so glad 
that you have a portrait of him." 

In May of the year 1850 the last son was born, and 
received his father's name, Thomas Smith. 

SOPHIA DABNEY TO HER SON CHARLES. 

" October, 1851. 

"I shall enclose Sarah's last letter to you. I know- 
it will please you, although it is not as good as some 
of her other letters. You must write to her occasion- 
ally, and give her your best advice, both as to her 
studies and as to her conduct in society ; advice from 
an older brother always seems so interesting. Sarah 
will highl}^ appreciate any advice from you, she is so 
much attached to you." 

SOPHIA DABNEY TO HER SON CHARLES. 

" January 14, 1852. 

. . . "Busybody is sitting by me, every now and then 
putting the cork ir the inkstand and begging for 
candy." 

SOPHIA DABNEY TO HER SON CHARLES. 

"Burleigh, May 4, 1852. 

"I am truly thankful that I am able to write to you. 
. . . I was so unwell before the birth of my baby that 
I did not think it prudent for me to write. I had 
a great deal of headache, and it was increased by 



* Jefferson Davis and John C. Calhoun. 
12* 



138 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

writing. Often I felt a great desire to tell you what 
was going on here, for I knew that none of them knew 
how interesting it would be to you as well as I did, 
Nobody knows you as I do. I know you as well as ] 
know myself. . . . Ben says he loves his brother 
Charles better than all his brothers. He says that he 
intends to live with you. ... I must tell jou that 
Sarah and Sue waited on me with so much kindness, 
kept everything so quiet, that enabled me to get well 
so quickly. I can go to the table now. My daughter.^ 
have been great comforts to me. I do not think I 
shall regret that the youngest is a daughter. I call 
her Lelia." 

SOPHIA DABNEY TO HER SON CHARLES. 

"May 27, 1852. 
. . . "The girls and boys have not returned from Mr. 
May son's wedding. JS'o doubt they will have a great 
deal to write to you, for your papa returned ^^ester- 
day, and seemed perfectly charmed with everything 
and everybody. He says that Sarah and Sue looked 
very well, and a great deal of attention was paid them. 
They were perfectly at their ease, like young ladies, at 
the same time as modest as possible. They were 
dressed beautifully, — that is, plain and elegant. They 
had their hair dressed by the hair-dresser at the hotel. 
. . . The bride's mother said to your papa that she 
hoped Mr. Maj^son would like her family as much as he 
did ours. I suppose that Sarah and Sue have given you 
an account of the old bachelor, Colonel Hemingway. 
He seems to know everybody. Mr. Dabney says that 
he stuck to the 'two misses,' as he called Sarah and 
Sue, and paid every attention that was necessary. . . . 
I have been very nervous and weak since the birth of 
my little daughter, but I think I am getting better. I 
am driving out every day; that will restore me very 
soon." 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

"BuRLKiGH, 30th May, 1852. 
. . . "The children returned from Jackson yesterday 
in high glee, having been sufficiently attended to even 
had they been grown. They weie called upon by the 



HOME LIFE. • 130 

governor's family, but were unfortunately at Mrs. Saun. 
ders s boarding-house at the time. They called at the 
governor's mansion, and were equally unfortunate then 
lor the ladies were paying their respects to the bride 
at that hour. I will mention one more circumstance 
m connection with your little sisters of a very pleasant 
character. Mrs. Foote said that she wished me to in- 
troduce her to my daughters (this was at the weddino-) 
to which I replied that they would highly appreciate 
the honor ; and I was about to go after them, when 
she stopped me, and insisted upon being taken to them 
they being m the other room at the time. She accord- 
ingly ran her arm through mine, and was conducted 
by me to them and introduced. The governor made 
me take him to them also, and he did not omit to express 
his admiration of them in very marked terms. 

"I am happy to say to you, also, that the brothers 
were no discredit to the sisters. I had sent the boys 
to Vicksburg to rig out for the occasion, and they did not 
tail to do It brow7i. . . . And they conducted themselves 
with sufficient ease for boys of their age." 

This wedding of our favorite tutor, Charles Mayson 
was a real episode in our childhood. It was our first 
experience of going from home to anything like an 
evening company. Mr. Mayson had come from Jack- 
son expressly to beg that his former pupils might be 
allowed to attend his marriage, as he felt that on ac- 
count of their youth an invitation would hardly be 
successful if sent by letter. As he had foreseen, our 
mother was unwilling to trust children brought up in 
so secluded a way at a large fashionable weddino-. But 
to our delight, he overruled all objections, and we were 
allowed to go. These letters give a quaint description 
ot the appearance and behavior of the party seen 
through the medium of our parents' eyes. 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

" Cambridge, June, 1852. 
^ " The late nomination of the Whig party is such that 
It must strike the mind of every one. It shows a dis* 



140 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

position on the part of the J^orthern Whigs which 1 
bad hoped did not exist. It was the triumph of section 
over section, — of Northern majority over Southern 
minority. It has thrown a gloom over the face of 
nearly every Whig student in college, and nine-tenths 
of the students, I believe, are Whigs. All, I may say, 
deplore the nomination of G-eneral Scott as the ruin of 
the Whig party and as the forerunner in all probability 
of new internal difficulties. All that remains now for 
us to do is to try our best to defeat him. I was proud 
to see the South so united in her opposition to him and 
in her advocacy of Mr. Fillmore. While she continues 
thus in harmony the worst that can happen will be at 
least unattended with dishonor. On the first ballot 
you remember the South was unanimously for Mr. Fill- 
more with the exception of one vote from Yirginia for 
General Scott. She held on to her favorite up to the 
forty-eighth ballot, when Scott gained four from the 
South, — two from Yirginia (making three in all from 
that State) and two from Missouri. Then it was that 
the nefarious game was decided. Even on the final 
ballot there were only thirteen from the South that de- 
serted a cause which should have had no deserters 
The infamy which those men deserve who insisted in 
forcing upon the country a man whom I may say one- 
half of it unanimously opposed, cannot be heaped upon 
them sufficiently high by one generation, but the work 
must be left unfinished, and the completion of it be- 
queathed as a legacy to posterity. 

" It is my opinion, as well as that of many others, 
as I have already stated, that the nomination of Gen- 
eral Scott portends evil to the country. God save us 
from his election ! The Northern abolitionists and 
Western Freesoilers advocated him because they are in 
hopes that, in case he is elected, he will be made a tool 
of by some of their party. They are dissatisfied with 
the just administration and unconquerable impartiality 
of Mr. Fillmore. For them he has no sympathy, with 
him they have no influence. But here is a man whose 
individual conceit and vanity will make him believe 
anything provided it is accompanied with flattery. 



HOME LIFE. 141 

With him, then, there is a chance — more particularly 
as it was they who supported him — of succeeding in 
all their plans, of alienating one section of the Union 
from the other. G-eneral Scott a compromise man ! 1 
doubt that most considerably, notwithstanding his 
having accepted the platform. And even if he is, he 
resembles a vast majority of the people of the United 
States. It was certainly not on account of his favor- 
ing the Compromise more than all others that he was 
selected. Millard Fillmore is a compromise man, — a 
strong compromise man. He has given every evidence 
of it, and the South has shown its gratitude and its 
high appreciation of his services by clinging to him so 
long and with so much unanimity. Then it must be 
that the Freesoilers and abolitionists believe at least 
that by means of General Scott's weakness they can 
get possession of him and take the government into 
their own hands. They could not advocate the drop- 
ping a man so firmly adhering to the compromise on 
any other grounds. If Mr. Fillmore is not as popular 
as General Scott it must he because his cause is not popular. 
If his cause is not popular, fai'ewell to the Union. Mil- 
lard Fillmore and the Union are one. If he has been 
guilty of partiality to the South, the South will always 
continue to demand that partiality, let the President be 
who he may. If it is not accorded, why, the South 
must withdraw that authority which it has delegated. 
" The news of the nomination was received in Boston 
with hisses, groans, and oaths. I shall send you a paper 
containing an account of it. But with these Webster 
Whigs I have no sympathy. They could at any time 
have thrown the scale in Mr. Fillmore's favor. Instead 
of that, they were constantly sending despatch after 
despatch to Boston saying that the Fillmore men were 
all wavering, and that in a short time they would unite 
with the Webster men ; that one hundred and thirty- 
three men were going to abandon their favorite — their 
idol — to advocate another man who only had twenty- 
nine votes ! and not a single one from the South. Did 
you ever hear of anything so absurd, so preposterous, 
80 unfounded, so unreasonable ? With the fact staring 



142 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

them in the face of one hundred and thirty-nine ot 
thereabouts supporting Mr. Fillmore, and continuing 
to support him for upwards of forty ballots, they were 
still infatuated enough and foolish enough to think that 
the Fillmore men were going to desert him and advo- 
cate their man ; a man who never saw the day when 
he was popular, — a man who never saw the day when 
he could create the least excitement or enthusiasm in 
the nation, unless it was when he met and overthrew 
Hayne, of South Carolina, on the floor of the Senate. 
I do not say that he created any excitement or enthu- 
siasm then, but I say that if he did not do it then, he 
never has done it at all. When I say that Mr. Webster 
' never saw the day when he was popular,' I mean that 
he never saw the day when he was the first choice of 
even a tolerable portion of his party. Was not I right, 
then, in saying that reason did not reside among the 
New England, and especially among the Boston, people? 
Was I not right in saying that the publication of the 
letter of a reasonable man, a patriot and a Whig, would 
be of no avail among such a people ? I deeply regret 
that I proved so good a prophet, — so far am I from 
congratulating myself. At the time that I said what I 
did about the Boston people I was excited, and intended 
acknowledging it to you as soon as you had received 
that letter. The reason of my being excited was the 
fact, if I remember rightly, of my having just been to 
a large abolition meeting in the loyal city. Hearing 
such violent disunion and disgraceful speeches, — seeing 
such a tremendous and orderly audience of citizens, — 
and that in the daytime, — for if a Yankee deserts his 
work you may know he is interested, — I could not help 
being convinced that the disaffection towards the laws 
and the country was much greater than we in the South 
are apt to suppose. Now I see that the opinion I formed 
under excitement is the true one. You will agree with 
me too, I think. 

" Your letter of the 8th June was received yesterday 
morning, containing your address to the Whig dele- 
gates of Mississippi. I agree with you in everything 
you say. I not only agree with you, but think that 



HOME LIFE. 143 

you ought to have said what you did say and in the 
manner in which you said it. The delegates from Mis- 
sissippi acted just as you wanted them to act; whether 
it was in accordance with your advice, or with their 
own sound judgment and patriotism, or with both, is a 
matter of no consequence at all. You are satisfied, 
whichever way it may be, I know. I showed your 
address to several of my friends, and they liked it very 
much; said that it was exactly what it should be. Wo 
could not help being amused, though, at your com- 
paring the Presidential candidates to a party playing 
loo or set-back euchre. They all concurred that your 
illustration was capital, and that you showed an inti- 
mate acquaintance with the game. ... I knew before 
you mentioned it that Mr. Fillmore was the first 
choice of the Whigs of Mississippi, and believed that 
Mr. Webster was the second, but it was with great un- 
willingness that I believed it. I had rather see him 
President than General Scott; but take out the gen- 
eral and there is not a Whig living who stands on the 
Compromise that I would not rather see President 
than Daniel Webster. In making an assertion like this 
I am not to be understood as meaning any Whig, 
wherever you may find Mm, but any Whig who has suf- 
ficient capacity to. occupy the ofl8.ce, and suflicient de- 
termination to act his own waj^, regulated by a sound 
judgment. As a manufactured orator, as a man of 
learning, and as a lawyer, I admire Mr. Webster; but 
I do say that he is great in no sense of the word, 
unless allusion is made to his corporeal dimensions. 
He can follow when others lead, and follow with con- 
siderable effect, but he cannot lead. He has not that 
decision of character and judgment, the necessary in- 
gredients of all great minds. Put him under the Gon- 
trol of a determined man, and Daniel Webster will 
appear to be great; he will make great efforts; but 
remove that control, and his efforts will be like the 
flounderings of a wounded whale, destitute of judg- 
ment and equally injurious to friends and foes. With 
a mind capable of comprehending anything, he can 
originate nothing. In other words, Daniel Webster 



144 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

would have made a capital tool in the hands of a 
tyrant. In my 'long letter' I said that I thought Mr. 
Clay looked upon Daniel Webster as a rival. I said so 
because Mr. Clay has never come out and advocated 
Mr. Webster's pretensions to the Presidency, at least 
as far as I know. You are much more famfiiar with 
Mr. Clay's history, and of course know whether he has 
or not. I do not speak positively under such circum- 
stances. You say that you do not believe that Mr. 
Clay has ever honored mortal man so highly as to 
regard him as a rival. That is a matter of opinion, 
and cannot be determined either one way or the other. 
I do say this much, though, that if he has ever re- 
garded Mr. Webster as a rival his jealousy was mis- 
placed. There is no comparison between the two men. 
God Almighty made Henry Clay ; Daniel Webster made 
Daniel Webster. The greater workman has made the 
greater man. I think that Mr. Clay is the only great 
man now living in America. When he is gone we will 
all be on a level. There cannot, in the nature of things, 
be many great men at a time. 

"I acknowledge myself in error in saying that 'Mr. 
Clay favored General Scott in preference to Mr. Fill- 
more.' I do not think that I said that exactly. As 
well as I remember it was this: that 'Mr. Clay favored 
General Scott.' I did not mean at all to throw out the 
insinuation that he was opposed to Mr. Fillmore, but I 
meant that he had no objection to General Scott. Some 
years ago he recommended the general in a letter to some 
one or some convention. I do not remember the occa- 
sion. He has spoken of General Scott frequently as being 
a fit man for the Presidency. In his letter, published 
some six or eight weeks ago (I have not seen it), he rec- 
ommends, so I am told, Mr. Fillmore, because he has done 
his duty and given satisfaction ; because he thinks it 
right to 'let well enough alone.' But for these circum- 
stances I am certain, as far as a man can be of such a 
thing, that General Scott would be Mr. Clay's first choice. 
That letter of Mr. Clay's, to which I have just alluded, 
gave mortal offence to the Webster Whigs about here. 
I have heard them allude to it. They think that it was 



HOME LIFE. 145 

written to break down the Webster party, and that but 
for it Webster would have been the nominee! That is 
another one of the Massachusetts absurdities. 

"In my last letter to j^ou I predicted four things. 
Three of them have already come to pass: First, that 
Mr. Webster would have scarcely any supporters at the 
convention out of New England. On the first ballot 
(which is the proper one for this purpose) Mr. Webster 
had only twenty-nine votes, twenty-four of which were 
from New England, — eleven from Massachusetts. Sec- 
ond, that the South would go for Mr. Fillmore to a 
man. She did so, with the exception of one vote. 
Third, that General Scott would get the nomination by 
means of the Western and Northern States. The last 
prediction remains to be verified, viz., that the general 
will be beaten, and that his defeat will be a victory to 
his country. You see I am quite a prophet, notwith- 
standing I do not read newspapers much. 

"I was at first just as much shocked at the nomina- 
tion of the Democratic convention as I am now at that 
of the Whig, but I am now entirely changed. For 
General Pierce I have the highest admiration. Next 
to Mr. Fillmore, whom we have tried, and whom we 
know, I had rather have General Pierce. I had the 
pleasure of being in General Pierce's company without 
knowing it. When he received the news of his nomi- 
nation he was in Boston. So many persons called on 
him that the report was started that he had gone to 
Baltimore, whereas he had only come out to Cam- 
bridge. He played the incognito admirably. He went 
to the hotel where I board, took a seat nearly opposite 
to me at table, and, as a matter of course, we discussed 
him in his presence. Not one word was spoken in his 
favor. All were Whigs with the exception of two, — 
mj^self, who claim no party, and a j^oung fellow by the 
name of States Eight Gist, of South Carolina. His 
name reveals his politics. But I was struck forcibly 
by the appearance of an elderly gentleman who sat 
nearly opposite to me, a thing which has not seldom 
happened to me. I thought at the time of sending a 

waiter to him to attend to him " 

G * 13 



146 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

The letter ends abruptly here, the other sheet or 
which it was continued having been lost, along with 
many valuable papers and other property, when the 
family left Burleigh, as refugees, during the war. 

Charles did send his own waiter to attend to the 
stranger, and did not know till he had left the table 
that he was Mr. Franklin Pierce. 

CHARLES TO VIRGINIUS. 

" Cambridge, June, 1852. 
..." A few days ago a fellow in the Freshman class 
was expelled for ringing some church-bell. He hired 
a splendid carriage and four gray horses, and was 
driven around and through the college 3"ard, — had his 
hat off like some distinguished stranger, — met all the 
students as they were coming out of the chapel from 
prayers, and they gave him three tremendous cheers. 
That looks very much like bearding the devil. It 
requires considerable audacity to do such a thing in 
broad daytime and in the middle of a town. . . . There 
is one thing of which I feel quite certain, and that is 
that this place will cost you about a thousand dollars a 
year, including vacations. It will require the most 
rigid economy not to exceed that sum." 

DR. J. A. SMITH TO CHARLES. 

..." For no one ever arrives at eminence in this 
world, or, at any rate, the exceptions are too rare to be 
taken into the account, without proposing to himself 
some great object of which he is to think every day 
and nearly all day, — filling, it may be, his dreams at 
night. He must passively submit to every needful 
privation and actively surmount for weeks, nay, per- 
haps for years, every obstacle which may perhaps suc- 
cessively arise to foil his aspirations. And this is the 
key to the success of enthusiasts, who are thus enabled, 
when guided by good sense, to overcome difficulties 
which to ordinary minds appear absolutely insuper- 
able. 

"An intense desire, then, to attain the end you seek 
is to be the constantly impelling motive, not only to 



HOME LIFE. 147 

urge you on and to solace your toil, but to strew your 
path with flowers. 

" For, once thoroughly embarked and speeding orv 
ward, you will enjoy, so far as external pursuits aro 
concerned, the greatest happiness this world affords. I 
speak from some little experience, more observation, 
and much reading. . . . 

" Your affectionate uncle, 

"J. Aug. Smith." 



CHARLES TO HIS MOTHER. 

" Cambridge, July 24, 1852. 
. . . "We, of course, saw the risk of having our 
rights challenged, but we determined to encounter it 
in order to hear such a man as Winthrop. I was amply 
repaid for my trouble. He delivered the finest oration 
I ever heard. It was classic in the extreme. He took 
a masterly view of the different systems of philosophy 
in the world, and their practical effect. He showed the 
great influence of educated men in forming and con- 
trolling 'public opinion,' — the great power of an un- 
fettered press, and its results according as it is in the 
hands of good or bad men. Assembled around the 
speaker were the different grandees of the land ; there 
were Greenleaf and Shaw, of great legal reputation ; 
Everett, Sparks, Quincy; Thornwell, the president of 
South Carolina College, and John S. Preston, brother 
of William C. Preston, of that State ; the governor and 
staff, and a host of others, who occupy the highest civic 
or educational positions in the country. ... I went 
close to the speaker's chair. I heard Edward Everett. 
He is the most graceful and elegant man I ever saw 
in my life. His gesticulation and pronunciation of 
language excelled even my ideal of what it should 
be. With a tall and commanding figure, light com- 
plexion, and brown hair, inclined to curl, his move- 
ments were as graceful, as smooth, and as noiseless as 
the rolUng of an ocean after a storm. After Mr. 
Everett spoke Chief-Justice Shaw, of Massachusetts. 
His speech was legal in its nature. He eulogized his 
calling and demonstrated the great benefits which re- 



148 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

suited to society from hanging a man. Aft<?r Judge 
Shaw spoke Dr. Fuller, a preacher of Baltimore. He 
fired away at the chief-justice's speech, and showed that 
hanging a man was not the best use to which he could 
be put, — that it was the object of societj^ to preveu' 
and not to punish crime. Then came the South Caro- 
linians, Thornwell and Preston. Both delivered good 
and patriotic speeches, and the audience gave six hearty 
cheers for South Carolina. There were several other 
speeches delivered, — good enough in their way, but not 
worthy of my taking notice of them here. Old Quincy 
delivered a very witty and amusing speech. As he is 
one of the distinguished men of Massachusetts, it would 
not do to pass over him." 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

"Burleigh, 29th October, 1852. 

"The papers received last night bring the appalling 
intelligence of the death of Mr. Webster. Thus has the 
country lost its two giants in one year, — within four 
months, indeed. When Mr. Clay died, great as was the 
nation's grief, there was yet a consolation in the re- 
flection that Mr. Webster was left to us. But who is 
left now? Truly, no one. There is not a living man 
who is capable of half filling the shoes of him of 
Marshfield. I cannot conjecture who Mr. Fillmore 
will appoint to the State Department, but have no 
doubt he will do his best. 

*'You cannot appreciate the force or truth of my 
expression that 'no one' is left to us, now that Mr. 
Webster is dead, unless you will look into the Demo- 
cratic Review occasionally, and especially the number 
for this month (October). You will find there that 
'Young America,' the 'Party of Progress,' is sum- 
moned to the polls to vindicate the principles that 
would not have discredited a French Jacobin of the 
last centurj^ The Whigs are stigmatized as small men 
with limited ideas. Pierce, as the standard-bearer of 
'American progress,' will, they are assured, bring these 
matters right. The matters to be brought right are not 
left for conjecture. They are the seizure of Cuba, the 



HOME LIFE. 149 

Sandwich Islands, the Northern fisheries, Austrah'a, 
Grenada, Central America, Mexico, and the West In- 
dies! Young America is assured that nothing more 
is necessary than that they elect Pierce, and all of 
these fair possessions will be theirs. The editor says, 
by way of making the thing more interesting, I sup- 
pose, that we shall first have to whip (his term is that 
we sliall be involved with) England, France, Spain, and 
Mexico; but he says that 'private enterprise' and 'a 
free people will do it.' It will be nothing but a whole- 
some exercise, it seems. The Whigs are small men 
with limited ideas because they cannot see their way 
out of such enterprises, and would not go into them if 
they could, may be added. These are but a few of the 
astounding propositions of this journal, and it is the 
leading Democratic journal of the Union. 

"Who can lash this man and this party with scor- 
pions, now that Mr. Clay and Mr. Webster are dead ? 
They could make 'Young America' tremble, even when 
Young America held the helm. I should not fear these 
men much if Mr. Webster lived, because, in power or 
out of power, his words were listened to by the whole 
country as words of wisdom, and heeded as such. 
Whose words will weigh as much now?" 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

"Burleigh, 10th December, 1852. 
. . . "We had a fair hunt under all the circum 
stances, having killed sixty-seven deer. I think they 
obviously diminish each year. . . . Sophy sends you a 
'book-marker,' having worked it for you herself" . 

CHARLES TO HIS MOTHER. 

"Cambridge, December 12, 1852. 

"Your letter of the 26th ult. reached me the day 
before yesterday, containing the painful intelligence 
that my father was sick. I am now most anxious to 
hear from you again, and have felt sad ever since the 
arrival of your letter. I hope that his sickness is 
nothing more than the result of exposure, and that his 
wonted good health will, long before this reaches you, 

13* 



150 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

have been entirely restored. I am glad, though, that 
you mentioned it, as I never desire anything of that 
kind concealed from me, for if it was I should never 
know when to repose confidence in the letters which I 
receive. I feel homesick to-night. I would give worlds 
to be with you now. But I must drag myself along 
through time until next summer, and have no com- 
panion to cheer me up in the arduous task save hope. 
T feel as if I could not possibly love you enough, but 
[ feel that you know how much I do love you. But 
my heart bleeds when I think that my conduct towards 
you has not always been in accordance with the depth 
of my affection. My consolation consists, however, in 
knowing that you know me well enough to perceive 
when my conduct is at variance with my affection, and 
that you would not judge of the latter, which is infinite 
and eternal, by an act sudden and momentary. 

" And my father, who, I trust, is now pursuing his 
wonted occupation, can I ever do enough to justify the 
confidence which I know he has always reposed in me? 
Can I ever approach anything like the realization of 
the expectations which he has associated with me? 
I am afraid not. When I think of this my heart almost 
bursts ; and though from experience and study I have 
for the most part acquired the habit of controlling my 
feelings and emotions, yet tears will often fill m^^ eyes 
when I am alone when I think of those to whom I 
owe so much, — whom I love so much, yea, love to dis- 
traction. As it is said that the chief happiness of 
parents when they become old consists in the contem- 
plation of the welfare and affection of their children ; 
and as you and he are now getting old, the main object 
of my future life shall be whatever will most conduce 
to bring about that happiness ; and fortune, ambition, 
glory, shall all be neglected to attain it. I know that 
it is painful to you for me to be away from you, — to me 
it is utter wretchedness. I feel as if I would never be 
willing to endure another separation. There is more 
happiness to be found around the domestic fireside, in 
the conversation of those whom we love, than in gilded 
houses, exalted stations, the attentions and applauses 



HOME LIFE. 151 

of the multitude. You must forgive me for sometimes 
feeling lonely and desolate, considering I am so far from 
you, and for bu.'dening you with a portion of my 
melancholy." 

The oversensitive conscience of Charles accused him 
of faults which he did not possess. His reverence and 
filial affection for his parents were never known to fail. 
In the family life his example was without blemish. 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

" Burleigh, 19th December, 1852. 

" Your mother and the girls are employed in making 
mince-pies and other good things, held to be appropri- 
ate for the approaching Christmas festival. And this 
reminds me that m}^ whole family participated with me 
in this celebration last year. When will they do it 
again ? Never, is the probable answer. Not that any 
of us are likely to die within the compass of a year, 
but the position or employments of some will, most 
probably, forbid it. Should we all live to see the sun 
make his next annual circuit, I suppose that all will be 
here except Virginius. How of the next? Yirginius 
should not be here then. And the next? But we will 
pursue this theme no further. 

" We expect a larger company than we had last 
Christmas, although something like half of our last 
year's company will be absent. Yirginius and your- 
self, for example. will be here certainly. 

He will bring Colonel Yick with him, whom I specially 
invited. I also expect Mr. Wm. Moncure, having in- 
vited him a month ago, and Dr. Latimer, E. Lott, J. 
Shelton, O. Y. and Wm. Shearer, Jennings, Lyles, Hal 
Smith, Hal's father, and Yernon. Edward will be here 
with one of his school-fellows, and it is probable that 
some will be here unexpectedly, as Summers has a 
friend with him, for example." 

The whole family never met again. In nine months 
from the date of this letter Charles Dabney died. 



152 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

" Cambridge, December 21, 1852. 
" Tell Sophy that I thank her very much for the 
* book-marker' which she made for me, and that it 
afforded me the greatest pleasure to see that she 
thought of me. I am glad also to see the progress she 
has made in needle-work, and to hear such flattering 
accounts of the studious habits of all of them. I shall 
indeed ' remember' her."* 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

"Burleigh, IStli January, 1853. 

..." I have ordered one thousand dollars to be for- 
warded to you immediately by the Bank of Louisiana, 
which will give you a little surplus over your estimates ; 
a thing well enough to provide, as it will enable you 
to bring some little presents to your sisters, which I 
always approve of, as the affections are cultivated in 
this manner as successfully perhaps as in any other 
single mode. 

" You need not make yourself so uneasy about your 
expenses. I am perfectly satisfied with them myself, 
and it is lucky that I am, for I do not anticipate any re- 
duction in them for some time to come. I hope you do 
not expect to support yourself from the start. I say I 
HOPE you do not, for I should be sorry to see you dis- 
appointed, and perhaps mortified. Immediate success 
does not depend on merit, but most frequently on the 
lack of it. But all this you know. Be satisfied, then, 
to bide your time, with but little fear of my becoming 
fatigued. . . . 

" P.S. — There is not the least objection to your accept- 
ing Olivia's present, and I am gratified at her propo- 
sition. It would be impossible for me to accept any 
such thing of her, but it is very different with my 
children. I would not consent to her making them 
costly presents, but such as are merely complimentary, 
as in your case, gratify me very much." 

* The motto of the little marker was, ** Remember Me." 



HOME LIFE. 153 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

"Burleigh, 30th January, 1853. 

..." I am very glad that you called my attention to 
Alexander Hamilton. Whether he was a greater man 
than either of the Adamses would be a very difficult 
point (but an unnecessary one) to determine. It may 
be enough that he ranks with Madison as a contributor 
to the Federalist, and with him also, and with Adams and 
Jefferson, as a statesman and patriot of the Revolution. 
Do you not remember the speech of John Adams upon 
the adoption of the Declaration of Independence? If 
a greater amount of patriotism, heroism, and eloquence 
is to be found in the same number of English words 
elsewhere than in that speech, I know not where to 
look for them. But still, it would be difficult to ascribe 
to me too high an admiration of and veneration for the 
genius and character of General Hamilton. I therefore 
write you to purchase for the Burleigh library all of 
his writings, the Federalist complete included. I also 
wish you to purchase Sparks's 'Life of Washington,' as 
a suitable companion for the other books. These are 
American works, and yet, in my poor judgment, they 
may safely be reckoned the classics of future ages. En- 
tertaining these views of the great value of the princi- 
ples inculcated by the writings of Washington and the 
Adamses and Hamilton and Webster, I think you had 
better procure them all in very substantial bindings : 
calf if you choose, but that may not be necessary. 

"If you think it judicious, you may purchase books 
for yourself, during the year, to the amount of one 
thousand dollars. I do not name that sum as your limit 
by any means, but only as your presejit limit. It may 
be that it would be injudicious to purchase so many at 
once, but you will judge of that, and let me know, 
whenever you have made up your mind what sum you 
prefer to have for this object." 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

"Cambridge, February 15, 1853. 

"Last evening I received yours of 30th January. 
Parts of it greatly moved me, and upon those parts I 
will touch first and somewhat at length. 



154 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

" When I came to that portion in which jou authorize 
me to purchase books to the amount of one thousand 
dollars my head felt giddy, my heart swelled. That 
is an outlay, that is a favor far beyond anything I had 
hoped. But you correctly suggest that it might be in- 
judicious in me to buy as many books at one time and 
80 early in life. The law books that 1 will want will 
be such as will suit the kind and the extent of practice 
which I have a right to expect, for I have not the 
right to think that I am going to get any very diflScult 
cases, or any great number of them, for some time. 
It would be a useless expenditure therefore to buy a 
large number of law books unless I expected to enter 
immediately into a large practice, for law books are 
of that nature that as soon as a new book, or a new 
edition of an old one, comes out, those which preceded 
it are rendered almost entirely worthless. This last 
remark is of course general in its nature, and does not 
apply to ' reports,' for they are always good and neces- 
sary, but to treatises on legal subjects, text-books, etc. 
And, besides all this, I wish to buy my law books — that 
is, those that will not be immediately necessary to me 
as a capital to start on — with my own earnings. I am 
unwilling to put you to a greater expense than my 
prospects will justify, and of them I can onty judge 
after I have entered upon the practice. Nor do I wish 
to bear more heavily on you than there is any need 
that I should. . . . But as I hope and expect to be 
something else than a mere lawyer, I will want some 
books of a historical, literary, and philosophical char- 
acter, a moderate number of which, though enough to 
supply my wants for many years, will cost about two 
hundred and fifty dollars. But even this expense I 
would be unwilling to encounter all at once but for the 
likelihood there is that, after entering into business, I 
may be so engaged as not to have an opportunity for 
many years to come, perhaps, of getting books on as 
o;ood terms and of makino; selections where there are 
80 many to select from. 

" Another reason is that I will have some time to read 
before I get involved in business (if I ever should ho* 



HOME LIFE. 155 

come so fortunate) than I will ever have afterwards. 
Without the books I might be comparatively idle. My 
mind would rust, dimness would take the place of what 
is now freshness, and the wheels of intellect would roll 
backward. Although there is more to be learned in 
my profession than I ever will know did I study it ex- 
clusively every hour during the day, yet I do not wish 
it to be the only ladder upon which I am to climb 
hereafter. No lawyer pretends to know everything 
about law. If a lawyer wishes to be anything else 
than a bore to the jury he addresses, he must gather 
flowers and perfume in a poetic land. If he wishes to 
give anything more than a mere legal argument, he 
must gather wisdom and acuteness from metaphysics. 
If he wishes to be learned, he must rob history of its 
contents. It is on this account that I wish to possess 
somewhat of a miscellaneous library. Without it, as 
you know, I would be contracted in mind, uninteresting 
as a companion, and dull and disagreeable as a lawyer, 
and the groundwork which I have laid in my academic 
career, and the great expense to which I have been put 
to lay it, would all result in nothing except as far as it 
operated as a mental training. If you have any sug- 
gestion to make on this subject, or if you differ in your 
views from anything that I have here written, of course 
you will not fail to make known your opinions at length. 
It is needless for me to say that the older I get, and 
the more I learn, the more I am satisfied of the cor- 
rectness of your views with regard to education and 
the method of attaining it. . . . 

"I have, my dear father, written coolly on the gen- 
erous and affectionate offer you have made me, but my 
heart has been filled to overflowing. To say that I thank 
you, that I am grateful, would be acting so coldly as to 
chill you. I am at a loss what to say, and it is there- 
fore that my letter has somewhat the appearance of 
abruptness and disconnection. To say little, but to re- 
solve high, will, then, be the best way by which I can 
show my high appreciation of it. You have thus indi- 
rectly shown me what you expect of me. My hopes 
and my efforts will all be enlisted on the side of your 



156 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

expectations. But do not rear them too high. Wait 
and see me fairly engaged in the contest of life before 
you assign them any definite proportions. I have 
hopes, yea, high hopes, but I never like to breathe 
tbem even to any one. 

" There was one thing in your letter which hurt me ; 
not because I thought that you intended it to do so, 
but because it showed me that, under excitement, I 
might have written foolishly and rashly on a former 
occasion. In speaking of the books which jou. wish 
me to procure for the Burleigh library you say, ' These 
are American works, and yet, in my poor judgment, 
they may safely be reckoned the classics,' etc. It was 
the word poor. This word hurt me, not so much be- 
cause it might be construed into a very mild and kind 
reproof, but because it has suggested to me that I did 
not address myself with that courtesy and respect 
which I owe you, not onl}^ from the relation, but also 
from the love and affection you bear to me. I know 
that I deserved it all, and I hope that you will think no 
more of it, and say no more about it. The lesson and 
the kindness with which it was given I will remember. 
I don't know that I ever told you that I confided in 
your judgment ; that would have been as unnecessary 
as telling people that I loved you ; but, I know this, 
that no excitement could ever make me either act or 
write in a manner intentionally disrespectful towards 
you. Could I bo capable of such a thing, so far from 
meriting your love, I would taint the very atmosphere 
in which I breathe." 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

" Cambridge, Mass., 13th February, 1853. 
..." Yes, Mr. Clay was the Golconda of the Whig 
party, in whom the rough diamonds were quarried, and 
Daniel Webster was the skilful artificer who polished 
them ; but, like the artificer to whom King Hiero of 
Syracuse gave his gold that he might make him a 
crown, he robbed him of nearly all of it, and gave him 
in return an adulterated and worthless bauble. So has 
Mr. Clay fared in the hands of Mr. Webster, not in your 



HOME LIFE. X57 

day, for you know all about the two men, but in those 
days in which posterity shall live." 

CHARLES TO HIS MOTHER. 

. " Cambridge, Mass., February 27", 1853. 

. . . ' But it has been a still longer time since I have 
received a letter from you. But I know how many cares 
and duties j^ou have, how many interruptions you are 
liable to, and I therefore feel thankful and happy if 
I receive a letter from you once in six weeks. ... I 
send a little handkerchief to Sophy." 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

^ " Cambridge, Mass., February, 1853. 

"In my last I promised that my next should have a 
continuation of the subject then under discussion ; and 
accordingly I will now proceed to give my views upon 
the American mind. I will begin by saying that I 
never had a contempt for the American mind, and, so 
far as I can remember, I never intentionally expressed 
any ; but, on the contrary, I have the highest admira- 
tion for it, and believe that it will attain an eminence 
equal, if not above, that of any other nation. But I 
do say, and think too, that since our separation from 
England we have not attained any height worthy the 
excessive praises lavished by our people upon their 
writers. It is a fact, which I think cannot be contra- 
dicted, that our greatest men and best educated men 
(public men, I mean, for of private men we know 
nothing) were born and raised subjects of the British 
ihrone. And all, or nearly all, had given evidence of 
their intellect before the Eevolution had systematicallv 
broken out. Washington, Franklin, Jefferson, Adams, 
Henry, Hamilton, etc., were as much subjects of the 
king of G-reat Britain, up to 1776, as I am a citizen 
of the United States. In addition to these being the 
greatest men this country ever had, three of them, 
Franklin, Jefferson, and Adams, were the most learned! 
Franklin must have been near his seventieth year when 
he signed the Declaration of Independence. Mr. Jeffer- 
son, at thirty -three years of age, wrote the Declaration, 

U 



158 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

which is of itself sufficient to satisfy any man of his 
learning and ability. Mr. Adams, about that time, 
made some speeches, which, in the opinion of many, 
equal anything in the English language. Now, I 
think the greatness of these men, up to the period of 
the Revolution, was no more owing to American (what 
is now meant by American) institutions than to the 
Chinese ; but they w^ere brought forth and matured 
under British institutions. It is true they differed 
somewhat from the institutions in the island of G-reat 
Britain itself; but, nevertheless, they were regulated 
by British laws, and governed by men appointed by the 
British throne. 

" In point of respect and admiration for our Eevolu- 
tionary patriots and sages I yield to no one. 

" But the class of literary men and philosophers to 
whom I wish my remarks to appl}" are those who are 
essentially ' American,' those who have been born and 
reared since the birth of America. I think that this 
class is not only vastly inferior to our sages of the 
Revolution, but also very much inferior to the men of 
England and France produced during the same period. 
It may be said that great crises are necessary to bring 
forth great men. Great crises bring forth great heroes 
and great patriots; but, in my judgment, great scholars 
and great philosophers can be produced quite as well 
in the quiet monotony and stillness of the cell as amidst 
the turmoil of war and the upturning of the moral and 
political world. War gives occasion for the display of 
greatness of soul and readiness in meeting emergen- 
cies ; but Peace is the mother of the Arts, — of those 
things wTrich adorn society and make it more comfort- 
able for its dwellers. 

" The question will here arise. Have we done noth- 
iog? Yes, we have done a great deal, — vastly more 
than any other nation of the earth could have done. In 
1776 civilization was bounded by the AUeghanies. All 
the territory beyond them w^as inhabited by the most 
worthless and determined of enemies. Since that time 
all of these enemies have been overthrown, — all of 
that territory put into cultivation. We have laid many 



HOME LIFE. 159 

thousands of miles of railroad, cut many long canals, 
built innumerable cities. Our steam marine exceeds 
that (I believe) of the whole world. And, what is 
more, we have put into practice the theories of liberty 
and government which heretofore only found existence 
in the brains of philosophers. Well may it be said of 
us, that, like the infant Hercules, we have strangled 
dragons in our cradle. But our destiny, I thank 
heaven, is higher: we have yet to slay the Lernean 
hj'dra and the Nemean lion and to lift rivers from 
their beds, which are the labors of manhood in full 
vigor. Looking, then, at what we have done, it is plain 
that our powers and energies have been directed to 
securing the comforts of life, — to the conquest of the 
asperities of nature, — that we have had no time to 
devote to the cultivation of the arts and refinements of 
life. We have manifested no backwardness in making 
application of those principles of mechanics which aid 
at all in taking obstacles from our path. We have 
put science to use wherever it could possibly have been 
done. In fact, in this we are superior to the rest of the 
world. 

" Besides, we were born to the inheritance of a litera- 
ture. The English literature, philosophy, and science, 
up to the period of the Revolution, belongs as much to 
us as to the English themselves. We never, therefore, 
felt the want of such things, and what people do not 
want they are not likely to strive hard to attain. But 
now we are a nation ourselves ; and though we are 
capable of using whatever the English mind produces, 
yet it is not ours. Since our birth as a nation we have 
had so many obstacles in the physical world to contend 
with, that no time has been left us for.anything else. 
]^ow that they have been removed, we may look for 
the dawn of a brighter day. The great encouragement 
given by our people to newspapers and periodicals of 
every kind is a happy omen. Our writers will not 
need the condescending patronage of crowned heads 
and conceited courtiers ; but the honest approval and 
liberal rewards conferred by freemen's hearts and free- 
men's hands will amply supply their every want. I 



160 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

am glad that the government at Washington has held 
out so many encouragements to Lieutenant Maury." 

THOMAS DABNEY TO HIS SON CHARLES. 

" Burleigh, May 6, 1853- 

..." I entirely concur in your proposition, that tc 
slight a letter is to do an unpardonable thing." 

CHARLES TO HIS FATHER. 

"Cambridge, Mass., July 3, 1853. 

"I will embark on the first ship that sails for New 
Orleans after the 8th. The diplomas are not given out 
till the 20th. At that time the academic honors are 
conferred. I will, of course, leave mine behind me, to 
be brought on b}^ a friend. . . . 

" I am quite bothered as to what sort of presents to 
buy for my little sisters, but I hope before I leave to 
think of something." 



CHAPTEE XII. 

HOLIDAY TIMES ON THE PLANTATION. 

A LIFE of Thomas Dabney could not be written with- 
out some reference to the Christmas at Burleigh. It 
was looked forward to not only by the family and by 
friends in the neighborhood and at a distance, but by 
the house and plantation servants. The house was 
crowded with guests, young people and ^Ider ones too. 
During the holiday season Thomas and his guests were 
ready to accept invitations to parties in othe|' houses, 
but no one in the neighborhood invited company for 
Christmas-Day, as, for years, everybody was expected 
at Burleigh on that day. On one of the nights during 
the holidays it was his custom to invite his former over- 
seers and other plain neighbors to an eggnog-party. In 
the concoction of this beverage he took a hand himself, 
and the freedom and ease of the company, as they saw 



HOLIDAY TIMES ON THE PLANTATION. 161 

the master of the house beating his half of the eggs in 
the great china bowl, made it a pleasant scene for those 
who cared nothing for the eggnog. 

During the holidays there were refreshments, in the 
old Yirginia style, of more sorts than one. The oysters 
were roasted on the coals on the dining-room hearth, 
under the eyes of the guests. 

Great bunches of holly and magnolia, of pine and 
mistletoe, were suspended from the ceiling of hall and 
dining-room and drawing-room. 

Sometimes, not often, there was a Christmas-tree, — 
on one occasion one for the colored Sunday-school. 
One Christmas everybody hung up a sock or stocking; 
a long line, on the hall staircase. There were twenty- 
two of them, white silk stockings, black silk stockings, 
thread and cotton and woollen socks and stockings. 
And at the end of the line was, side by side with the 
old-fashioned home-spun and home-knit sock of the 
head of the house, the dainty pink sock of the three- 
weeks-old baby. 

Who of that company does not remember the morn- 
ing scramble over the stockings and the notes in proae 
and poetry that tumbled out ! 

The children's nurses modestly hung their stockings 
up by the nursery fireplace. 

Music and dancing and cards and games of all sorts 
filled up a large share of the days and half the nights. 
The plantation was as gay as the house. The negroes 
in their holiday clothes were enjoying themselves in 
their own houses and in the " great house" too. A 
visit of a day to one of the neighboring towns was 
considered by them necessary to the complete enjoy 
ment of the holidays. 

They had their music and dancing too. The sound 
of the fiddles and banjos, and the steady rhythm of 
their dancing feet, floated on the air by day and night 
to the Burleigh house. But a time came when this 
was to cease. The whole plantation joined the Baptist 
church. Henceforth not a musical note nor the joyful 
motion of a negro's foot was ever again heard on the 
plantation. " I done buss' my fiddle an' my banjo, an' 
I 14* 



162 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

done fling 'em 'way," the most music-loving fellow on 
the place said to the preacher, when asked for his re- 
ligious experience. It was surely the greatest sacrifice 
of feeUng that such a race could make. Although it 
was a sin to have music and dancing of their own, it 
was none to enjoy that at the " great house." They 
filled the porches and doors, and in serried ranks stood 
men, women, and children, gazing as long as the music 
and dancing went on. Frequently they stood there 
till the night was more than half gone. In the crowd 
of faces could be recognized the venerable ones of the 
aged preachers, surrounded by their flocks. 

Christmas was incomplete until the master of the 
house had sung his songs. He was full of action and 
gesture. His family used to say that although he was 
in character and general bearing an Englishman, his 
French blood asserted itself in his manner. In his 
motions he was quick, and at times, when he chose to 
make them so, very amusing, yet too full of grace to 
be undignified. He was fond of dancing, and put fresh 
interest in it, as he did in everything that he joined in. 

On Christmas mornings the servants delighted in 
catching the family with '' Christmas giff !" " Christmas 
giff !" betimes in the morning. They would spring out 
of unexpected corners and from behind doors on the 
young masters and mistresses. At such times there 
was an affectionate throwing off of the reserve and de- 
corum of every-day life. 

"Hi! ain't dis Chris'mus?" one of the quietest and 
most low-voiced of the maid-servants asked, in a voice 
as loud as a sea-captain's. One of the ladies of the 
house had heard an unfamiliar and astonishingly loud 
laugh under her window, and had ventured to put an 
inquiring head out. 

In times of sorrow, when no Christmas or other fes- 
tivities gladdened the Mississippi home, the negroes 
felt it sensibly. " It 'pears so lonesome ; it mak' me 
feel bad not to see no comp'ny comin'," our faithful 
Aunt Abby said on one of these occasions. Her post 
as the head maid rendered her duties onerous when 
the house was full of guests. We had thought tha^ 



HOLIDAY TIMES ON THE ILANTATION. 163 

she would be glad to have a quiet Christmas, which 
she could spend by her own fireside, instead of attend- 
ing to the wants of a houseful of ^^oung people. 

In the presence of the guests, unless they were old 
friends, the dignity of the family required that no light 
behavior should be indulged in, even though it were 
Christmas. In no hands was the dignity of the family 
so safe as with negro slaves. A negro was as proud 
of the " blood" of his master and mistress as if it had 
been his own. Indeed, they greatly magnified the 
importance of their owners, and were readily affronted 
if aspersion of any sort were cast on their master's 
family. It was very humiliating to them, for they are 
all aristocrats by nature, to belong to what they call 
"poor white trash." 

Our steady Lewis was often sent to take us to even 
ing entertainments, on account of his being so quiet 
and nice in his ways. On one of these occasions he be- 
came so incensed that he refused to set his foot on that 
plantation again. Mammy Maria informed us of the 
cause of Lewis's anger. One of the maids in the house 
in which we were spending the evening had insulted 
him by saying that her mistress wore more trimming 
on her clothes than his young ladies did ! 

Hog-killing was one of the plantation frolics. It 
began at daybreak. Every man, woman, and child 
seemed to take a part. Even the one or two or three 
or four fat dogs that came along with each family 
seemed to know that the early bustle was the presage 
of boundless enjoyment, such as could only be brought 
about by unlimited fresh pork. 

The servants made fires in every direction all over 
the frozen ground, and round each fire was a merry 
group. They made more jokes and laughed more 
gayly than on other days ; for not only did they fry 
great pans of liver, and bake hoe-cake after ash-cake, 
and ash-cake after hoe-cake, and eat them the livelong 
day, but when the day was over there was the great 
bag for each man's shoulder, filled with tenderloin and 
liver, heads, and lights, and spare-ribs; and all these 
good things were not counted in the " 'lowance," either. 



164 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER 

The only night-work done on the place was the semi- 
monthly corn-shelling, in preparation for the Satur- 
day's grinding. The mellow songs of the corn-shellers 
floated on the air during the hour required for this 
work. When they found an ear of red or blue corn, 
or a double ear, it was often laid aside to be given in 
the morning to one of the white children. 

The church at Pass Christian was the first Episcopal 
church that we had seen. The organ up in the gallery 
and the singing up there behind us seemed mysterious 
and heavenly. The tall pines and the giant live-oak on 
the great Indian mound in front and the cedars that 
stood round it, made the church seem a place where 
the world and its thoughts could not enter. One day 
we were told that we were to be taken to the beautiful 
little church to be christened ; all, from Edward down 
to the baby, Thomas, in the nurse's arms, — the eight 
Mississippi children. 

We were baptized by the rector, the Eev. Thomas 
Staughton Savage, Mrs. Savage standing by our mother's 
side as godmother for the whole flock. Dr. and Mrs. 
Savage had both been missionaries to Africa, and only 
returned to America when his health had been shattered 
by the deadly climate. During his residence there he 
became known to the scientific world as the discoverer 
of the gorilla.* 

Thomas was a man of strong prejudices. Later in 
life, when his character was softened by age, sorrow, 
and religion, he yielded readily to influence. There had 
been opportunities for the baptism of the children be- 
fore, but because the characters of the clergymen were 
not altogether to his taste, he had refused to allow his 
children to be christened by them. 

Dr. Savage was a man whose unafl'ected piety, joined 
to his many gifts, won his esteem, and the long deferred 
christening was arranged. An envelope containing a 
handsome sum for each child's name was put into the 
rector's hand when it was over. The church, he was 



See Huxley's " Evidence as to Man's Place in Nature," p. 33, 



HOLIDAY TIMES ON THE PLANTATION. 165 

told, made no charge for admission into her folds. But 
he made his offering; it could be used in some way. any 
way that the minister thought best. 

There was no Episcopal church in Eaymond. He 
gave aid to the Methodists there, because he fc!t that 
he must help the cause of religion in his neighborhood. 

He was always a strong believer in the doctrines 
of Christianity, and had great reverence for religion. 
But he was not a religious man. It was long years 
after this that he became a communicant and a true 
Christian. 

Yet through all these years he did the deeds of a 
Christian. He was the most liberal of contributors to 
every enterprise that was gotten up to build up Sunday- 
schools or churches, or to support the clergy. His 
house was the resort and resting-place not only of the 
bishop and clergy of the Episcopal Church, but of the 
ministers of all denominations. 

A Baptist preacher, who spent a day or so at Bur- 
leigh every time that his monthly Sunday came around 
to preach in the neighborhood, was so fond of staying 
there as to rouse the jealous}^ of his own congregation. 
He was a worthy old man, but unsuccessful, as far as 
earthly eyes could see, in his ministrations. When he 
was bidding his congregation good-by in a farewell 
sermon, he mentioned by name his friend, Colonel Dab- 
ney. " I have preached twenty years here," he said, 
" and have converted no one, not even Colonel Dabney." 

Thomas once had an Episcopal clergyman and his 
family, consisting of his wife, five children, and two ser- 
vants, to spend six weeks at Burleigh. At another time 
he had an Episcopal clergyman and his family of six in 
his house for two months. Other occasions might be 
mentioned when he had the care of clergymen's fami- 
lies during the absence of the parents. 

Thomas was more than once spoken of as an " in- 
comparable host." When a Louisiana gentleman ex- 
pressed a desire to establish a school near Raymond, 
he received the family into his house, and they were 
entertained there for two months. This family con- 
sisted of the father and mother, their eight children 



166 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

and an adopted child, one negro and four Irish servants, 
and two horses. The gray-haired Creole negro had 
been strict in his observance of Friday as a fast day. 
But the mutton was tempting, and, as one of the Bur- 
leigh negroes expressed it, " Uncle Felix done tu'n, 
'cause the mutton is too good." 



CHAPTEE XIII. 

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 

The summer of 1853 was an anxious one in the 
South, for the yellow fever was raging in l^ew Orleans 
and in other Southern cities. It had never been known 
to reach Pass Christian, and the Dabneys felt safe 
there. But the New Orleans daily papers, giving the 
mortality at two hundred, and finally even three hun- 
dred a day, cast a gloom over all faces. A great many 
New Orleans people fled for safety to the Pass. The 
daily boats were crowded with refugees. Quarantine 
laws were unknown then. 

In September it began to be rumored that the disease 
had broken out at the Pass Christian hotel, and that 
the victims were buried every night, lest people might 
be deterred from going there. 

It was all too true. But scarcely any one believed it. 

Charles Dabney had come home after two years of 
study at the Law School of Harvard Universit}^ hav- 
ing graduated there with honor. His mother feared 
that his having been so long in a Northern climate made 
him peculiarly susceptible to the fever. She urged on 
him this danger, and begged her husband to take the 
family away from the Pass. But he did not believe it 
possible that the fever could spread in that air. Charles 
was full of youthful spirits, and so happy to be in the 
home circle once more, that he could not be made to 
apprehend any danger. When the last week in Sep- 
tember came, the fever was more deadly than ever in 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 167 

New Orleans. This decided Thomas to take his whole 
family to Binleigh by the overland route. As before 
mentioned, he and the mother and the little ones and 
the servants had always gone by this way. His wagons 
were commodious, and he invited a number of friends 
to become his guests in this journey, and to remain at 
Burleigh until it should be safe for them to return to 
their homes in New Orleans. Quite a party accepted 
the invitation, and it was looked forward to as a de- 
lightful and novel excursion. But different things in- 
terfered, and all but one young lady found it impossible 
to accompany the family on the seven days' journey 
through the country. On the afternoon of the first 
day's travel she got out of the wagon to take a long 
walk. Charles was on his riding-horse. He felt ill at 
the time, as he afterwards told his mother, but he could 
not see a young lady, his guest, walk unattended by 
himself He walked two and a half miles with her, 
when he found himself near fainting. They had now 
reached the house where the travellers were to spend 
the night. The next morning it was decided that he 
was not able to continue the journey that day ; but no 
special anxiety was felt. Yellow fever was not thought 
of It had been maintained that it could not be con- 
tracted on the Mississippi coast of the Grulf of Mexico 

One of the children held back to say good-by to 
brother Charley, but the father said that there was no 
use in that; he had only a bilious attack, and would 
be up in a day or two. So Edward was sent forward 
with the charge of the children and wagons, and the 
rest of the household, amounting to twenty-one per- 
sons. 

Thomas and Sophia, with the baby and nurse and a 
man-servant, remained behind with Charles. Thomas 
was not long in finding that the sickness that he had 
hoped was so slight was bafliing his knowledge of dis- 
ease. The symptoms were unlike any that he had 
seen. The situation was agonizing. Neither physician 
nor medicine was to be had in that country, not even a 
cupping-glass to relieve the throbbing temples. 

Still, no thought of the yellow fever crossed the 



168 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

mind of any one. Even if it had, the result, under cir- 
cumstances so disastrous, could hardly have been other 
than it was. 

They were not much longer to be in doubt as to the 
enemy that was battling with that young life. 

A gush of black vomit let them know that their boy 
was dying of the yellow fever. He asked his mother 
to hand a looking-glass to him. She held it before his 
face, and he was shocked to see the blood on his mouth. 
At once he prepared himself for the death that could 
be but a few hours off. " Lord, have mercy on me,*' 
his mother heard him whisper. " Tell Yirginius," he 
said, "to set a good example to his younger brothers 
and sisters ; much depends on him, now that he is to 
be the eldest. No one knows how I have felt the re- 
sponsibility of being the eldest, and how I have been 
weighed down by it. I have tried hard to set a good 
exanij^le. I felt the responsibility." Turning to his 
father, he said, " Do not expect so much of your other 
children as you expected of me. I was injured b}^ that. 
I tried too hard not to disappoint you. I broke my- 
self down. I am willing to die. But I am sorry not 
to be the eldest." 

He spoke lovingly of each brother and sister by 
name. To his partial eyes they were all dear and 
good. Only that summer he had said that he would 
like to marry a wife like any one of his six sisters. 

Then he sent a message of love and good-by to the 
nine absent ones, and kissed and caressed the baby 
sister, stroking her curls and admiring the " pretty 
head." Then he called his father to him and said, 
" Kiss me for Virginius, for Edward, for Sarah, for Sue, 
for Sophy, for Emmy, for Ben, for Ida, for Tommy;" 
and at each name the kiss was given. "]^ow kiss me 
for yourself" 

The last kiss was given, and the poor distracted 
father rushed from the house and into the woods. It 
was more than an hour before he had regained self- 
control and could trust himself to go back to that bed- 
side. Death seemed slow in coming. Unmindful of 
himself, even in death, the dying son sought by his last 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 169 

act to do what yet lay in his power to help his parents. 
He stretched himself straight and close to the side of 
the wretched room, and kept the position for more 
than an hour. "It is too hard," he said at last. "I 
cannot stand it. I tried to lie there straight, that you 
inight not have any trouble in composing my limbs. 
BwTj me here now, in these woods. But do not leave 
me here. In the winter take me up and put me by 
the side of my brothers." 

When the sun rose on Wednesday, the 28th of Sep- 
tember, it was all over. The father who, but a few 
days ago, knew that he had a son ready to take his 
place as the worthy head of the family, now felt that 
his staff had been taken from him. The mother's 
grief was quiet but crushing. Her health received a 
shock from which it never recovered. 

His favorite place was at her feet, and no com- 
panionship was so sweet to him as hers. They laughed 
together like two happy children, and talked the long 
summer mornings through in the Pass Christian house. 
"Oh, smile again," he said to her in that last summer, 
his own joyous face beaming as he spoke. "You look 
so beautiful when you smile." 

The poor, ignorant people in whose house they were 
staying were kind and sympathizing, and did all that 
they could to help my dear father and mother. They 
had a number of children, and Thomas Dabney spoke 
with regret to the father of the family at having 
brought a dangerous and contagious disease under his 
roof. The man answered that he was not afraid, and 
that even if there were danger he could not have 
turned a sick man from his door. 

They laid their son there to rest among the jjines 
till January. Then he was carried to Raymond, where 
he now sleeps beside his brothers. 

He was twenty-three years old. Thirty-three years 
have passed since that time. But his birthday, the 3d 
of May, and the day of his death, the 28th of Septem- 
ber, are tenderly observed each year by his favorite 
sister, Sarah. 

The father and mother bowed their heads in sub- 
H 15 



170 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

mission to the blow. Sympathy came from all sides, — ■ 
from the old professors at William and Mary and the 
college friends there, and from the professors and stu- 
dents at the Universities of Yirginia and Harvard. He 
had warm personal friends among them all. Not the 
least gratifying message that came to them was from a 
poor and humble family living near the University of 
Yirginia, whom he bad helped. They did not know 
how to write to his family to express their sympathy, 
but friends of the Dabneys heard of their grief 

The winter of '53 and '54 was spent quietly among 
the home and plantation duties at Burleigh. The 
father's elastic disposition, joined to a strong sense of 
duty to others, prevented any outward show of grief 
In the presence of her family our mother, too, was 
cheerful, and the smile was still on her face. It seemed 
a part of herself But it was not the bright look that 
we had known before, and whenever she was found 
after being alone for even a few minutes it was seen 
that she bad been bathed in tears. 

In July a daughter was born, the last of a long line 
of sixteen children to whom she had given birth, nine 
sons and seven daughters. It was seen from the first 
that the child was too frail to live. Her young sisters 
named her Eosalie. She lived but two months. The 
weary mother, seeing one of the children in the nursery 
crying over the cradle, said, " Do not shed a tear for 
the baby. She is better off. I am thankful that she 
is gone. I was not able to take care of her." 

It was now time to go to the summer-house on the 
sea-shore. But Sophia found that she could not bring 
herself to go to Pass Christian again ; and in a year 
or two. as her aversion to the thought of ever going 
ihere seemed to increase, Thomas sold the place. 

He had not thought it safe to keep his wife and chil- 
dren on the plantation during the hot months. The 
eighteen summers spent in Mississippi had all been 
passed either at Sophia's father's in Eaymond, or in 
Yirginia, or at the sea-shore. But this suUimer he de. 
cided to stay at Burleigh, as she wished it. 



SUMMER TRAVEL. 171 

CHAPTEE Xiy. 

SUMMER TRAVEL. 

They found the Burleigh house well suited to the 
hot climate, as the halls and rooms were high-pitched 
and spacious. They spent many comfortable summers 
there, and did not suffer from any illness caused by 
climatic influences. 

But the health of our mother was becoming more 
and more undermined. Two years after the great 
bereavement had come to her Thomas decided to take 
her to Virginia, among their relations and old friends, 
and to the White Sulphur and other springs, hoping 
that a complete change would benefit her. He kept 
her for two weeks in Baltimore that he might get the 
advice of Dr. Thomas Buckler on her case. Dr. Buck- 
ler could find no disease. There was none except that 
to which no earthly physician can minister, — the rooted 
sorrow that could not be plucked from the memor}^ 
But she was not without comfort. She found consola- 
tion in her religion. She had not forgotten her heavenly 
Father in her days of prosperity, and now in her time 
of adversity she leaned more and more heavily on that 
strong arm. 

The Dabneys spent six months among the familiar 
scenes of Gloucester and at Montrose, and with other 
relatives and friends, and in the Virginia mountains. 

Montrose — that charming, old-fashioned place with 
its smooth lawn and quaint box-bordered flower-beds — 
was the home of my father's sister, our dear " Aunt 
Martha." We had been taught from childhood to lovo 
and admire her, not without a little awe, too. We had 
not seen her, and she was only known to us as the 
writer of very beautiful and touching letters, which 
were read to us by our father with affectionate pride. 
He thought they possessed great literary merit, and 
often urged her to use her pen for the magazines. She 
was a woman of remarkable gifts and attainments, and 



172 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

charmed the young nephews and nieces by her delight* 
ful talk on a wide range of subjects. They became 
greatly attached to her, and her house was henceforth 
regarded by some of them as a second home. 

The six eldest children were with their parents. The 
four little ones were left under the sheltering care 
of their good aunt, Mrs. Augustine Dabney, that the 
mother might have complete rest. She tried to enjoy 
it all and to get well. At times she did much enjoy 
the society of those whom she had loved and had not 
seen for many years. In Gloucester County the Ex- 
change, now owned by Thomas's cousin, Mr. James 
Dabney, the only surviving son of Dr. James Dabney, 
was the house in which the large family of Burleigh 
Dabneys were entertained. The beloved uncle, Dr. 
James Dabne^", had passed away years before. 

James had married Miss Emory Tabb, the daughter 
of Mr. Thomas Tabb of the old estate of Toddsbury, 
Gloucester County. She was but a child when Thomas 
had moved from Gloucester, but she was ready to wel- 
come her husband's cousins as her own. When he 
drove up with the carriages from the steamboat-land- 
ing, where he had gone to meet his kinsmen, his young 
wife was standing on the portico of the Exchange 
with both hands held out. 

My mother's maid, Aunt Abby, brought our number 
up to nine, and a distant connection of my mother's, 
whom she had picked up in Baltimore, made our party 
ten in number. 

The whole-souled mistress of the Exchange took no 
count of numbers, and made us feel that we were to be 
happ}^ there as long as we chose to stay. The memory 
of that visit is among the brightest in the lives of many 
of that party. From the Exchange the Burleigh Dab- 
nej'S visited in the old neighborhood. The style of 
living in Gloucester, which the younger generation had 
often heard described, was not changed. The six weeks 
spent there were passed in driving about the country, 
sailing and rowing on the river, and in attending din- 
ner- and evening-parties. Music and dancing were in 
order, not only in the evenings, but in the forenoons as 



SUMMER TRAVEL. I73 

well. The sight of her children's enjoj'ment and the 
change of scene brightened up my mother. She 
thought that she could now enjoy theVirginia springs. 
But after going to several of the fashionable resorts 
she felt that they did not suit her taste. Her husband, 
who Avatched every look and feeling, at once looked 
out for a quiet spot. This he found at " Old Crow's," 
the breakfast house not far from the White Sulphur 
Springs. Here we spent some happy weeks rambling 
over the mountains and enjoying the delicious air. 
My father had keen relish for it all,— the visits to his 
old friends, the life at the Springs, and the weeks at 
Old Crow's. He used to say that when he set out to 
enjoy himself, even if it were only at a very poor cir- 
cus, he always tried to see the pleasant things, and did 
not look out for faults. This bright way of going 
through the world made him a charming travelling 
companion. He wished our party to have the full en- 
joyment of the mountain scenery, and he chartered 
stages to take his family from one place to another. 
In this way we were never crowded, and the company 
in the stage was such as he selected. He frequently 
invited friends to go with us as his guests. An inci- 
dent happened one day that amused the party. My 
mother's maid, Aunt Abby, and I (then in my fifteenth 
year) were sitting together on the front seat. We both 
got sleepy at about the same time, and her head fell on 
my shoulder, and my head rested on the top of hers. 
-By and by I woke up and raised my head, but she was 
still sleeping. Papa was laughing heartily at the scene 
when I opened my eyes, and so was M. Pierre Soule, 
our guest for the day. Aunt Abby was too dear an 
old friend to be disturbed, and she had her nap out. 
The good soul was quite embarrassed when she awoke 

to find how she had been violating the proprieties, 

that was her view of it. 

The father had no plan for that summer, except to 
follow the pleasure that seemed to present itself One 
day we got off the train to dine at Staunton. The 
hotel was new and clean, the scenery lovely, and the 
dinner all that could be desired. We were in the humoi 

15* 



174 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

to enjoy everything, and were eager in our expressions 
of admiration. " Shall I have the trunks taken off the 
train and stay here a week?" my dear father asked in 
his delightful impulsive way. The motion was carried 
by acclamation. I do not know what arguments he 
used, but he ran from the dinner-table to the baggage- 
car, and he got the luggage taken off. No one could 
easily refuse him anything, he was so good-natured, — 
it seemed contagious. 

Some one has said that the name of one old Virginian 
to another old Yirginian is as a trumpet to a war-horse. 
Our experience at Staunton and elsewhere that summer 
went far to prove the truth of this statement. Thomas 
met friends at Staunton, old and new. Some were 
friends whom he had lost sight of in the passing years. 

The younger members made excursions about the 
country, and explored Weir's Cave, and filled up the 
week as they pleased. 

One day we were going from Washington City to the 
White Sulphur Springs, and President Pierce and his 
wife and several members of his household got on the 
train. The conductor asked Mr. Dabney to bring his 
family to join the Presidential party in the car where 
Mr. Pierce and his family sat. So we went in. Poor 
Mrs. Pierce was a sweet-looking lady. She had lately 
lost her only child, a son, and w^as clad in the deepest 
mourning. She seemed overwhelmed with her grief, 
and we did not see her smile that day. Mr. Pierce was 
sad, too, and very tender in his manner to her. His 
manner to every one was kind and subdued and very 
attractive. 

During the day one of Mr. Dabney's children became 
ill with a chill. Mr. Pierce showed his kind heart by 
trying to relieve her. He asked her father not to let 
her ride backwards, and in many little solicitous ways 
showed his sympathy. Thomas Dabney had been pre- 
judiced against Mr. Pierce. This kind attention to his 
child removed the unpleasant impressions, which, after 
all, referred only to politics. The kindness reminded 
him of Charles's admiration of Mr. Pierce, and he never 
criticised him harshly again. 



SUMMER TRAVEL. 175 

At all the towns through which the trains passed 
the people were gathered in crowds to see the Presi- 
dent. But he sat in the corner of his seat in his quiet, 
simple fashion, and most of them went away without 
having been able to find out which was he. At one 
station, the eager face of a little boy attracted Thomas's 
attention. "Where is the President?" he was asking 
in an excited voice. Thomas put his hand out of the 
window and beckoned to the child. " Come here, my 
little fellow," he said, " I will show the President to 
you." But the crowd of men as well as the boy saw 
the hand waved from the window, and at once several 
of these rushed up and thrust their heads into Thomas's 
window. The lad had no chance. As he turned, and 
walked disconsolately away, he said, with a burst of 
tears, " I ain't going to lose my dinner again to see no 
more Presidents." 

We had an ex-Presidential party at the Warm 

Springs, — the . Mrs. , for a reason which could 

only be conjectured, as it was neither useful nor be- 
coming, wore a tiara of diamonds, curiously suggestive 
of a queen's crown. It was said that she never ap- 
peared in company without it. She certainly had it 
on when she alighted from the dusty stage at the 

Warm Springs. She spoke of always as " the 

President." 

In travelling through Ohio that summer, the chil- 
dren of the party informed Aunt Abby that she was 
free, and that of course she was going to leave them, 
and they proceeded to seize her hand with loud good- 
byes. This w^as amusing to them, but Aunt Abby looked 
at it as anything but amusing. She burst into floods 
of tears, and her mistress put a stop to the teasing of 
the children. The master had to reassure her, by tell- 
ing her what to say if any one should try to carry her 
off. In Cincinnati two men got on the train and went 
at once to her, asking if she were free. True to her 
master's instructions, she answered yes. " You are free 
as long as you are in Ohio," he had said. " You will 
only be saying what is true." She looked so frightened 
and wretched that the men did not believe her, and 



176 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

plied her with more questions, but nothing could be 
got out of her. She thought that they really meai»t to 
drag her out and make her free whether she wished it 
or not, as the children had said they would. She got 
down on the floor of the car, and squeezed herself under 
the seat on which her master and mistress sat, and 
could not be persuaded for some hours to leave her 
hiding-j^lace. Another Mississippi family, Mr. and Mrs. 
Hinton, were on the same train, and the}^ also had a 
servant with them. This servant and Aunt Abby had 
formed quite a friendship on the journey, and sat to- 
gether on the car. She answered the abolitionists as 
Aunt Abby did, and the men left the train without ac- 
complishing any other object than to give amusement 
to the Southern travellers and to frighten the two 
servants. 

Friends and acquaintances attached themselves to 
our party as we journeyed about the country, till we 
got to be seventeen in number. One day my father 
was marshallino; us out of a dinin2:-room, where the 
train had stopped for dinner. He told the man at the 
door that he had seventeen eating dinner, and he pro- 
ceeded to count us as we filed out. As mamma came, 
" There's my wife," he cried, " she counts for two." 
The door-keeper, who up to this time had kept a close 
eye on us, cried out, laughing, " Oh, sir, do not count 
any more. It is all right, I know. I am satisfied." 
And he took the money that my father put in his hand 
without looking longer at the advancing column. 

The mother seemed benefited by the long absence 
from home and home cares. She wrote to one of her 
absent children, after they were settled once more at 
Burleigh, — 

*'I know that you will be glad to hear I am better 
than when you saw me. I take a good deal of interest 
in my housekeeping now." 

It had been a grief to her that she took no interest 
in anything. 

The main interest in the life of the parents in this 
winter (1855-1856) was the education of the children. 
The father's ambition for his children was great. He 



SUMMER TRAVEL. 177 

wished them to excel in eveiythiiiii:;, and was propor- 
tionally disappointed when they failed. The mother 
was not less in earnest about their education, but she 
did not expect impossibilities as he did. To her thir- 
teen-year-old Emmy the mother wrote: 

" I am making a wadded wrapper for you to study 
hard in. ... I trust you and Sophy will go hard to 
work. You must alw^ays be at the head of your class. 
Let me hear from you frequently, and tell me exactly 
how you stand in your classes." 

She had no ear for music, and understood that her 
children could hardly be expected to be very proficient 
in that. But Thomas desired and expected his daugh- 
ters to perform like professionals. He was excessively 
fond of music, although he never learned to play on 
any instrument except the flute, on which he played 
very poorly, and he gave that up as soon as he heard 
better music from his children's fingers. He filled the 
house with musical instruments, — two pianos, and a 
harp, and a flute or so, and, later on, a melodeon for 
sacred music. 

The daughters tried hard to come up to his ideal, 
and studied music and practised many hours for years. 
But only one, Soj^hy, realized his dream. Her music 
was a great delight to him and a source of almost un- 
bounded pride. 

Music with Yirginius was a passion from his cradle. 
At the time that the Belgian violinist was at Burleigh 
he showed such a love for it, that his mother became 
seriously uneasy lest he should be unfitted for life by giv- 
ing himself up to the study of the violin. He was allowed 
to buy a violin from the young musician, but he received 
no encouragement to apply himself to the study of it, 
and did not till he went to Europe, after his course at 
the University was over. It was a very uncommon 
thing in those days for the sons of American parents 
to be taught music. 

The father expected all his sons to take the degree 
of Master of Arts at the University of Virginia. 
They might give themselves as many years as they 
chose to get it in, but they must bring that home eventu- 



178 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

ally. They found mathematics the great obstacle, and 
gave up trying to get through on that. They had 
diplomas to show to him after each commencement, 
but he was never satisfied because they had not taken 
the whole course. 

He was not a man to go by halves in anything. He 
could hate and detest as well as love and admire. His 
belief in human nature made him see the good in every 
man at first, and he thought well of even the most 
unprepossessing until forced to believe ill of them. 
When once he had seen anything mean or untrue in a 
man, it was wellnigh useless to try to make him see 
any good in that man afterwards. His prejudices 
carried him away as far in the opposite direction as 
his good nature had carried him in the man's favor. 
He was strong in all his feelings, and it was difficult 
for him to overlook or forgive such faults as arose 
from narrowness and dishonesty of purpose. His 
wife's influence was great, and she used it unceasingly 
to soften this disposition in him. She tried, too, to 
prevent him from expressing his adverse opinions of 
men and things as openly and imprudently as he did. 
He was incapable of dissembling or even concealing a 
feeling if he saw anything going on that he thought 
wrong. He could not even be made to see any virtue 
in restraining the expression of his disapprobation at 
such times. But he yielded his judgment to hers in 
many instances, because he could not bear to differ with 
her in anything, however insignificant. 

He spoke as openly to people as behind their backs. 
It was often a subject of marvel that he was allowed 
to say what another man could hardly have done with 
impunity. 

As an instance of this, he one day spoke sharply to 
Colonel McClung, the famous duellist of Mississippi. 
It was said that Colonel McClung had killed five men, 
and had grown reckless and bad-tempered and easy to 
take offence, especially when he was drinking. One 
day Thomas went up to Cooper's Wells, and on alighting 
saw Colonel McClung. He saw at once that he was in- 
toxicated, and tried to avoid him, but Colonel McClung 



SUMMER-TIME— FALLING ASLEEP. 179 

was fond of whist and fond of Thomas as a partner, 
and followed him, insisting on a game. There was no 
getting out of it, as the part of prudence dictated. 
Colonel McClung played carelessly, a thing annoj'ing 
to his partner, and he spoke sharply. " Do you speak 
so to me, sir?" Colonel McClung asked, raising his eyes 
of fire, his whole frame quivering with suppressed pas- 
sion. But his eyes of fire met the eyes of a lion. "I 
do, sir." 

Colonel McClung saw that he could not daunt that 
man. He gazed at him a moment. " I thought that 
he meant to challenge me," Thomas said, in speaking 
of it afterwards. ''Every gentleman there thought 
that he would challenge me. But he calmed dow^n in a 
moment and, to the surprise of everybody, said, ' You 
are right. Colonel Dabney; I did revoke and play 
carelessly. I shall do better, sir.' " 

"Did you ever have the feeling of fear in your life, 
papa?" one of his children asked one day. " I cannot 
remember, my dear, that I ever did," he said, in a 
musing way, as if he had not more than half heard 
the question and took no interest in it. 



CHAPTER XY. 

SUMMER-TIME — FALLING ASLEEP. 

The summers of 1856-57-58 were spent by the family 
at Burleigh. Indeed, from this time, the house was 
not again closed in summer. Occasionally some mem- 
bers of the family went to Mississippi City on the sea- 
coast for the change, or to the Hinds County watering- 
place, Cooper's Wells, or to the Virginia springs or 
farther north ; but of so large a family, some were 
always at home after the Pass Christian house had 
been sold. 

The summers grew to be the gayest season at Bar 



180 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

leigh. The house was nearly always crowded with 
guests. Everybody in the neighborhood ke))t open 
house. Friends from towns and cities found it the 
pleasant time to visit the country, and there were other 
reasons for their coming too. It was safe from the 
3'ellow fever. In yellow fever summers entire house- 
holds, including, of course, servants and children of all 
ages, were entertained. Sometimes for weeks, and even 
months, the white family numbered from twenty to 
twenty-five persons, and sometimes more. Music and 
dancing, charades and games, cards, riding on horse- 
back, and wascon- and carriao;e-drivino; were the diver- 

Jo O O 

sions. One yellow fever summer we got up a history 
class, and everybod}^ had every morning to sit in a long 
line in the hall and answer in his or her turn a question 
or two in English history. Bhinders gave more uni- 
versal satisfaction than accurate* knowledge, and it 
ceased to be a disgrace to be unable to answer very 
simple questions. One summer a church fair absorbed 
a great deal of time and thought. One winter we 
young people and our guests took up English poetry. 
It became a rage to study the best English poetry and 
recite it to each other on long walks. We learned sev- 
eral thousand lines before the enthusiasm died out. A 
lady who spent many weeks and months there in these 
years used to say that she had learned more at the 
" Burleigh Academy" than at any other that she had 
ever attended. A well-selected library of thirteen hun- 
dred volumes put all the standard authors within reach. 
One of the best actors in the charades was our father. 
The only objection to him was that he was so amusing 
to the other actors that they could scarcely get through 
with their parts. Any one who excelled in anything 
that could entertain the company was called on to do 
it. There were few who did not catch the spirit of the 
house and join in whatever was on foot. One young 
friend, who danced the Fisher's Hornpipe and the Ca- 
chuca very gracefully, was dressed in fancy costume 
and made to dance her pas seul every time that she 
made a visit. In the garret were trunks of fancy cos- 
tumes, masks, etc., for such occasions, — some were 



SUMMER-TIME— FALLING ASLEEP. 181 

bought, but most of them were fabricated out of old 
finery. Poetry and speeches were declaimed, and songs 
sung by people who had not dreamed that they had so 
much in them before. 

An English gentleman, an Oxford man, who spent 
a summer there under these happj^ conditions, said that 
the entertainment at Burleigh was like that in English 
houses. Sufficient attention was paid to visitors to 
make them comfortable, and to make them understand 
that their society was desired, but they were allowed 
to follow their own bent in disposing of their time. 
Mrs. Dabney's quiet dignity and her husband's high 
spirits and vivacious temperament were just the com- 
plementary qualities needed for a delightful home at- 
mosphere. 

Burleigh was loved almost like a home by some of 
the coming and going guests, and by one or two young 
boys who had lived there as members of the family, — 
the sons of friends or relations. 

The summer of 1858 was one of the gayest known 
at Burleigh. During the -summers of 1859 and 1860 
some of the young members of the family travelled in 
the Korth. 

Among the guests at Burleigh in these years none 
were oftener there, or contributed more to the happi- 
ness of the house, than the Raymond Dabneys. The 
brilliant band of sisters in the Raymond household were 
the most welcome visitors who came to Burleigh, and 
the brothers were looked on almost as sons of the 
house. 

Thomas and Sophia felt a just pride in this charming 
family of four nephews and five nieces. In their turn 
they honored Thomas almost as a second father, and 
Sophia was the dearest of their aunts. 

Thomas was the friend of young men, and encour- 
aged and assisted all who applied to him. During their 
University days two of his sons, Charles and Yirginius, 
wrote to him of worthy young men who were strug- 
gling to educate themselves and were in need of money. 
In both cases he sent a check for five hundred dollars 
to his sons, to hand to their friends as a gift. The fol- 

16 



182 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

lowing letter from a young friend will throw light on 
this side of his character : 

..." Aunt S. told me the other day of something 
which I was glad to hear, because it makes me feel 
nearer than ever to you all. It was simply an act of 
generosity on the part of your father, which would 
stand without a parallel in the experience of those 
greatly older and more acquainted with life and human 
nature than I am. I suppose you have heard it, but 
may I repeat it ? 

" At the time of a commercial crisis in Il^ew Orleans, 

when three of my uncles, , , and , were 

thought to be embarrassed, your father heard of it and 
sent to them a blank check, stating the amount he had 
in bank (fifty thousand dollars or more, I think), and 
instructing them to draw upon it to the whole amount, 
if necessary to prevent their name from going to pro- 
test. I do not think the check was used, but the gen- 
erous friendship of the deed remains." 

The incident is true, except as regards the amount 
oifered. It was not over twenty-five thousand dollars, 
or, at most, thirty thousand dollars, as he never had in 
bank more than the proceeds of the sale of a single 
crop, and his largest cotton crop brought thirty thou- 
sand dollars. 

He sent a check for fifty dollars to every church that 
applied to him for aid, without regard to its creed. 

He w^as so lavish in providing for his family that his 
wife and daughters learned not to trust him to make 
purchases, because he got so much more than was 
needed. 

A few illustrations of this will show his ideas on such 
matters. Sophia asked him one day to buy a brooch 
for the eldest girl. He was so pleased with the com- 
mission that he bought six, two apiece for the three 
eldest. Another day she asked for two diamond rings ; 
the two eldest daughters had practised their music 
faithfully and this was to bo a reward. The next two 
she thought too young for diamond rings. He bought 



SUMMER-TIME— FALLING ASLEEP. 183 

four, — it would not do to make a difference, he said. 
When one watch was sent for he bought three. 

Sometimes his shopping experiences were really ludi- 
crous. On his return from New Orleans one winter he 
brought in the place of a pink silk-tissue dress, that 
had been on his memorandum for one of the daughters, 
a quantity of some costly stuff for the entire family. 
It had struck his fancy, and he had gotten enough of 
it to make dresses for Sophia and each of her daughters. 
It was neither tasteful nor suitable. 

But the dear mother, with that rare unworldliness 
and lack of ostentation that sometimes brought a smile 
to the faces of her friends, had the dresses made up — 
five or six of them — all alike. 

And the dear father admired, and thought that we 
would always be willing to trust to his taste in the 
future. 

He looked on it as a great sin in parents to show a 
preference for one child over another. It was unpar- 
donable to feel it, he said, unworthy of a true father or 
mother. He said that he loved all his children alike, 
and he should feel like tearing his heart from his bosom 
if he did not. I never saw any one feel so strongly on 
this subject, — the cruel injustice of it struck him afresh 
when some instance came to his knowledge of some 
parent who felt otherwise than himself. 

His children caia testify, from full hearts, the unspeak- 
able comfort of the impartial love of father and mother. 

During all these years, since Charles's death, the 
mother's health had been failing. Her husband did 
everything that devoted love could prompt. They 
went on trips to pleasant places, and on visits to pleas- 
ant houses. Still, as time passed, she grew no better. 
It was now seven years since her great sorrow, but it 
seemed to bear her down more than ever before. She 
began to say that she was tired of bringing up her 
young children. " I do not bring them up as I did the 
others," she said. " I am not able to do it. My daugh- 
ters could take better care of them." And when she 
was ill, and we worked to save her, she said, " Oh, why 
did you not let me die?" When she thought that she 



184 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

was dying her lips moved and a daughter's ear caught 
the humble prayer, " Bless my children. Make them 
useful members of society." She was spared to us some 
months after this. 

The land began to be full of the talk of the coming 
war. Thomas was an Old-Line Whig, and that is as 
much as to say he was a Union man. He despised 
the " Blue-Cockade Men," as he called the secessionists, 
on account of the badge that many wore before hostil- 
ities began. He felt sure that they would not be the 
men to shoulder their rifles when real work had to be 
done. He did all that he could, in his neighborhood 
and through the press, to calm the excited feelings that 
the demagogues were lashing to a frenzy. He believed 
that the leaders were getting the war up to further 
their own ambitious schemes. From the first he doubted 
not that it would be a terrible conflict; it had been 
brewing too manj^ years to be other than terrible. 

He foresaw that in any event, whether conquered 
or victorious, the South would be ruined. 

" If the South succeeds," he said, " this will be but 
the beginning of secessions." 

He decided to sell everything that he owned and to 
move, before it was too late, to England with all his 
family. 

When his plans were fully made, he spoke to Sophia 
one night, — 

"My dear, I have made up my mind to sell our 
property and to get out of this country at once. We 
shall go to England. We have enough to enable us to 
live there with our children." 

"Yes, my dear; but what will you do with Abby?" 

The question was unanswerable. It opened up a 
whole vista of similar ones. " What will you do with 
Maria, with Harriet, with their children and husbands ?" 
He could set one or two free and provide annuities, but 
if he tried to make all his servants comfortable whom 
he could not make up his mind to sell, it would be quite 
impossible for him to take his family to live in England. 

That question of my good mother's settled forever 
his mind and the destiny of her house. 



SUMMER-TIME— FALLING ASLEEP. 185 

Thomas Dabncy and his wife deUberately chose to go 
down with their country. 

Has not their daughter, then, the right to say, as was 
said at the beginning of these memorials, that the tie 
between this master and his slaves was as sacred and 
binding, if not as near, as the tie of blood ? 

But the mother who almost forgot her own children 
that night on her pillow to stand up for her slaves, 
was not to see the desolation that was even now at hei 
doors. 

We did not know it then, but on the 9th of January, 
1861, Mississippi was to throw off her allegiance to the 
United States government. 

Three weeks before that 9th of January, one week 
before that last Christmas before the war, Thomas was 
standing in the dining-room, near Sophia, when she 
called to him suddenly. He threw out his arms just in 
time to catch her, and she sank on his breast. 

She never spoke afterwards to him or to any one else. 
She fell asleep as he held her in his arms, and he took 
her to her bed. 

She slept for nearly four days, while her physicians 
and her large family and many relations and friends 
gathered around her. 

Thomas was with her day and night, sitting or lying 
by her side, — his fingers on her pulse, — scarcely hearing 
his children when they begged him to take some care 
of himself. 

He felt the last pulsation of that loved heart. The 
breath had come more and more faintly, and at longer 
intervals, and he knew that the end was at hand. 

" It is over," he said, as he rose to go towards his 
children. 

Five daughters and two sons were there, the youngest 
child seven years of age. The two oldest sons only 
"vere absent, and one daughter. 

Two of the children were married, and two others 
grown men and women, but to him they were all to be 
from this day his motherless children. 

During our mother's lifetime he was sometimes a 
stern father. But from the day on which his lonely 

16* 



186 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

widowhood began he was never again other than the 
tenderest mother could have been. His whole nature 
seemed changed. He was father and mother in one. 
The wise, strong judgment and counsel of the man were 
there, but blended now with a pitying compassion and 
sympathy that were more than womanly. It was such 
tenderness as only the strong and brave can feel. 

He missed so sorely the loving and congenial and 
ennobling companionship that for thirty-four years had 
been his, that he could not bear to see his children 
suffer any approach to what he felt. The constraint 
that he put upon himself to appear cheerful was the 
most touching part of his grief, and we feared at times 
that his heart would break. During that perfect union 
there had been not one jar or disagreement. 

The only large wedding that took place in the Bur- 
leigh house was on the occasion of the marriage of 
Susan to Lyell Smedes. She had been engaged to him 
for two years, and her parents, who were much at- 
tached to him, warmly approved her choice. The 
servants long remembered the wedding-feast on this 
happy event; every man, woman, and child on the 
plantation was remembered in the wedding-cakes and 
other good things. 

It was during the short married life that followed 
this event that our mother passed away. Lyell's pres- 
ence was especially comforting to our father. His own 
children could not cheer him as the son-in-law did. 
But the dear father was unselfish in his grief as in 
everything else. 

" Do not stay with me," he said ; " go and take your 
young wife in your arms and comfort her as I com- 
forted her mother when she was young and when she 
was old." In a few weeks the household was plunged 
into a new and deep sorrow by the death of this hus- 
band of eleven weeks. 

The following extract is taken from his father's* 
meditations on the morning's lesson for Sexagesima 
Sunday. It will throw light on a character of singular 

* Rev. Aldert Smedes. 



SJJM^ER-TIM^^^j^LLl^G ^SLEE^. 187 

beauty and guilelessness, and on a life which passed so 
quickly from the home -circle at Burleigh : 

..." We shall deduce but one lesson from this in- 
teresting story : it is, the honor in which God holds filial 
obedience ! . . . Let the true moral, then, of the story 
of the Rechabites sink into every heart. It was their 
obedience to their father for which God held them in 
honor. ' Thus saith the Lord of Hosts, the God of 
Israel, Because ye have obeyed the commandment of 
Jonadab, your father, and kept his precepts, and done 
according to all that he hath commanded you : there- 
fore, thus saith the Lord of Hosts, Jonadab, the son of 
Eechab, shall not want a man to stand before me forever.' 

" In what precise sense this promise was fulfilled to 
the father of the Rechabites it is not our purpose to 
inquire. But to every Christian father of an obedient 
son the words assume a meaning as true as it is full 
of encouragement and blessing. 

" That son may grow up before his father, the delight 
of his eyes, the pride of his heart, with all the inno- 
cence and graces of a childhood baptized into Christ, 
gradually developing under parental culture, blessed 
of heaven, into the traits and virtues of a boyhood 
and youth, eager and joyous in every active sport, 
sedulous in every appropriate duty, and restrained 
from every excess of riot. Having won in this incipi- 
ent stage, by amiability, docility, and a habitual prefer- 
ence of others to himself, the good will and esteem of 
preceptors, companions, and parents, he may be sent 
with trembling, but with trust, to the ordeal of col- 
lege life. Amid the temptations which there beset the 
young he may be enabled to hold fast his integrity. 
Every letter from himself, every report from the 
authorities, every testimony of his many friends may 
cheer the anxious hearts of the circle at home, with 
evidence that he has not forgotten the precepts of his 
father's house nor forsaken the law of his mother's 
lips. At length, carrj'ing with him the honors of his 
college and the hearts of all who shared his labors in 
its halls, he is launched upon the business of the world. 



188 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

An independent and successful career opens almost 
immediately upon him, but it is one exposed to many 
and great dangers. Yet, though now of age to choose 
his own path, he does not forsake the paths in which 
he has been trained. He obeys a father's wishes by be- 
coming an aid to his pastor in the Sunday-school and 
in the choir ; he is regularly present when the sanctu- 
ary opens its doors ; on all occasions and in every com- 
pany he evinces his reverence for religion and for 
sacred things. A stranger in the place where his busi- 
ness has led him, he soon malies in every one of it?^ 
inhabitants a friend. 

" At length the time arrives when, after years of ab 
sence, he is to be held once more to the bosom which 
pillowed his infancy. He brings back to his home a 
form matured, indeed, into the fullest and firmest ex- 
pression of manly vigor, but a countenance flushed 
with the same rosy innocence and beaming with the 
same sweet smile which rendered his infancy attrac- 
tive. 

" It was impossible to see his expanded chest, his 
elastic but firm step, his appearance of health and 
manly vigor without the conviction that his body was 
a temple which no foul excess had defiled. While the 
cheerfulness, amiability, and kindness that made his 
face shine almost as an angel's and were expressed in 
every gesture towards those with whom he conversed, 
were the same tokens of a heart as loving and guile- 
less as a child's. 

" But his brief reprieve from business expires, and he 
hurries to his adopted home to claim the dearest prize 
this earth contains for man. God has crowned the 
mercies of a life unusually blessed by giving to him the 
bride whom his heart had chosen. One brother per- 
forms the sacred service, another assists as his nearest 
friend. A crowd of relatives and friends, with tears 
and smiles and warm congratulations, attest their sym- 
pathy and joy. The bride and groom in the bloom of 
health and youth and beauty stand, happiest of the 
happy, in the midst of a circle as full of kindness, 
gayety, love, and hope as ever such an occasion assem- 



SUMMER-TIME— FALLING ASLEEP. 189 

jled. Surely the father of a son so placed, though 
realizing the scene only from a great way off, might be 
excused if, amid other thoughts it suggested, this one 
should stand prominently out, 'that he should not 
want a man to stand before God forever.' 

" But a cloud soon passed over this cheerful sky ! It 
was shrouded in the blackness of night ! In his mys- 
terious wisdom and goodness it pleased the Almighty 
Being, who had made this young man so lovely and 
given him so much to love, to remove him by a swift 
disease from all that he held dear, from all who held 
him dear. His manly form lies low in the dust. His 
beauty is withered like the flowers which, from many 
hands, were scattered profusely over his bier. And 
now what remains for the afllicted ones he has left be- 
hind? For the widow in her speechless, tearless grief? 
For the mother, who goes mourning all the day long 
and waters her couch with her tears ? Shall no light 
rise upon their darkness? Kay, rather in the recol- 
lection with which their memory is stored, of the 
Christian graces of his childhood, youth, and manhood, 
in the testimony which comes to them from so many 
quarters, even from the companions of his gayest hours, 
from young and old, from man and woman, from high 
and low, of his generosity, his disinterestedness, his 
purity of thought, and word, and deed ; shall they not 
hear the whisper of 'the voice from heaven,' saying, 
'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord,' and shall 
not his father feel in a sense, highest, holiest, and most 
blessed of all, that ' he shall not want a man to stand 
before God forever !' " 

We placed him by the side of our mother, among 
her children. On the simple slab of Italian marble 
that marks the spot are his name and age — twenty-five 
years — and the words : 

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
God." 



190 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 
CHAPTEE XYI. 

SLAVES AND WAR-TIMES. 

On the day after our mother's death one of th(3 
daughters went to the kitchen to attend to the house- 
keeping. She found the cook in a flood of tears. " I 
have lost the best friend that I had," she said. She 
spoke the truth, for few besides the mistress who was 
gone could have had patience with Alcey. She was 
the cook who had been bought from Mr. Dabne3^'s 
mother's estate, and had been treated with marked 
kindness on account of her being a stranger; but she 
seemed to be vicious and heartless, and nothing but the 
untiring forbearance and kindness of this mistress had 
touched the hardened nature. 

AVhen one hires servants and they do not give some 
sort of satisfaction, redress is at hand. The servant 
is dismissed. But with slaves, at Burleigh, and with 
all the good masters and mistresses in the South, — and 
I have known very few who were not good, — there was 
no redress. 

It may be thought that Southerners could punish 
their servants, and so have everything go on just as 
they pleased. But he who says this knows little of 
human nature. " I cannot punish people with whom 
I associate every day," Thomas Dabney said, and he 
expressed the sentiment of thousands of other slave- 
owners. It was true that discipline had sometimes to 
be used, but not often, in very many instances only once 
in a lifetime, and in many more, never. George Page, 
who in his youth, and in his middle age, was about his 
master's person and knew him well, said, " Marster is a 
heap more strict with his children than he is with his 
servants. He does not overlook things in his children 
like he does in his people." 

Apart from the humane point of view, common sense, 
joined with that great instructor, responsibility, taught 



SLAVES AND WAR-TIMES. 191 

slave-owners that very little can be effected by fear of 
punishment. 

Fear and j^unishraent only tend to harden the rebel- 
lious heart. What, then, was to be done with a grown 
servant who was too lazy or too ill-tempered to do half 
work, with abundant and comfortable support insured 
whether the work was done or not? It is clear that 
unless the moral nature could be appealed to, that ser- 
vant had to be endui-ed. It would not have answered 
to set that one free ; that would have made dissatisfac- 
tion among the others. Yery many slave-owners looked 
on slavery as an incubus, and longed to be rid of it, but 
they were not able to give up their young and valuable 
negroes, nor were they willing to set adrift the aged 
and helpless. To have provided for this class, without 
any compensation for the loss of the other, would have 
reduced them to penury. 

Now that the institution is swept away, I venture to 
express the conviction that there is not an intelligent 
white man or woman in the South who would have it re- 
called, if a wish could do it. Those who suffered and lost 
most — those who were reduced from a life of affluence to 
one of grinding poverty — are content to pay the price. 

Good masters saw the evil that bad masters could do. 
It is true, a bad master was universally execrated, and 
no vocation was held so debasing as the negro trader's. 
Every conscientious proprietor felt that these were 
helpless creatures, whose life and limb were, in a certain 
sense, under his control. There were others who felt 
that slavery was a yoke upon the white man's neck 
almost as galling as on the slaves ; and it was a saying 
that the mistress of a plantation was the most complete 
slave on it. I can testify to the truth of this in my 
mother's life and experience. There was no hour of 
the day that she was not called upon to minister to 
their real or imaginary wants. Who can wonder that 
we longed for a lifting of the incubus, and that in the 
family of Thomas Dabney the first feeling, when the 
war ended, was of joy that one dreadful responsibility, 
at least, was removed? Gradual emancipation had 
been a hope and a dream not to be realized. 



192 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

It may not be out of place to give an illustration of 
how one of the Burleigh servants carried her point over 
the heads of the white family. 

After the mistress had passed away, Alcey resolved 
that she would not cook any more, and she took her 
own way of getting assigned to field work. She sys- 
tematically disobeyed orders and stole or destroyed the 
greater part of the provisions given to her for the table. 
ISTo special notice was taken, so she resolved to show 
more plainl}^ that she was tired of the kitchen. In- 
stead of getting the chickens for dinner from the coop, 
as usual, she unearthed from some corner an old hen 
that had been sitting for six weeks, and served her up 
as a fricassee ! We had company to dinner that day ; 
that would have deterred most of the servants, but not 
Alcey. She achieved her object, for she was sent to 
the field the next day, without so much as a reprimand, 
if I remember rightly. We were very sorry, for she 
was the most accomplished cook whom we had had in 
Mississippi. But what was to be done? ]N"o master 
could have made her cook unless by making a brute 
of himself, and using such measures as would lower 
him in his own eyes. Her master merely said, " Choose 
any one whom you like as your cook, and let Alcey go 
out to the field." 

Those were days of trial and perplexity to the young 
mistresses. The old house-servants, though having at 
heart an affection for them, considered or pretended to 
consider them too young to know what they wanted. 

Besides, had they not known these young ladies ever 
since they were born ? And did not they call them 
mammy or aunt in consideration of superior age ? 

If complaint were made to the master, his answer 
was, " If you cannot get along with the servants, and 
they will not recognize your authority, choose any 
others that you think will do better." Several had to 
be sent to the fields before some of the old trained ser- 
vants, who had never worked out of the "great house" 
in their lives, saw that there was to be a head to the 
house, even though that head was set on young shoul. 
ders. 



SLAVES AND WAR-TIMES. 193 

In this time of change and discouragement Mammy 
Maria's strong, true love for the house showed itself, 
and was indeed a help and support. She had never in 
her life received what could be called an order from 
any younger member of the family. To her everything 
was put in the form of a request. She was too much 
beloved for any one of her " white children" to wish to 
alter this relationship now. But mammy decided her- 
self on changing her manner to us. Instead of her 
independent way of letting us know her views, and 
expecting us to follow her advice, she addressed her 
young mistresses in a manner marked by the most 
studied deference. The slightest expressed wish, though 
couched as ever in the form of a request, was a com- 
mand to mammy, and was obeyed with more punctil- 
ious exactness than if it had come from the father or 
mother. She and they had been bons camarades many 
a year together, and understood each other, — there was 
no need to obey strictly, or to obey at all, if she saw a 
better way. But here was a different state of things, 
— here was upheaval and rebellion. The servants 
hardly meant it so ; most of it was thoughtlessness on 
their part, but the result was discomfort and perplexity 
to mammy's " white children." Her loyal heart showed 
her this way of giving comfort to us. 

After the war actually began, Thomas Dabney es- 
poused the side of the South with all the enthusiasm 
of his nature. As has been said, he did nothing by 
halves. He at once organized his household on a more 
economical footing that he might have the more to aid 
in carrying on the war. He said that we at home 
ought not to live more luxuriously than our soldiers in 
camp, and he himself set the example of giving up 
many luxuries which were yet abundant in the land. 
It was considered unpatriotic to plant cotton, and he 
urged his neighbors to turn all their energies towards 
sustaining the Southern soldiers. They planted half 
crops of cotton ; but not a cotton-seed was allowed to 
\be put in the ground on the Burleigh plantation. 
Npvery acre was planted in corn, that the army should 
bot lack food for man and beast. He gave his money 
\ I n 17 



194 MEMORIALS )F A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

with both hands, and his sons as freely. He was most 
restive at not being in the army himself. He was on 
the point of enlisting many times, and did enlist once, 
when special troops were called for to go to Columbus, 
Kentucky, where heav}^ fighting was expected. 

His daughters were in despair at seeing him at the 
age of sixty-two preparing to go into the trenches. 
1^0 argument on the subject of his age could move him 
when this uncontrollable longing to go into the army 
got possession of him, as it did from time to time. His 
daughters came around him and reminded him that all 
their brothers who were old enough to handle a musket 
were at the front, and he ought not to run the risk of 
leaving them without a natural protector. Perhaps 
the strongest argument used was that he could best 
serve his country by remaining at home and giving his 
personal supervision to the fields which were to feed 
the armies. He finally yielded to their wishes and 
stayed at home. 

His fourteen-year-old son, Benjamin, caught the war 
fever, and his father gave his consent for him to go into 
the ranks. He sent a trusted body-servant with his 
sons. 

" William," he said, " I wish you to stand by your 
young masters, and to look after them as well as you 
can. And if they are killed, I want you to bring them 
home to me." 

" Yes, marster." 

" And here is my sword, William. I give it to you 
to take to the war. You can fight with it, too, if you 
see a chance." 

"Yes, marster, I will show them the English of it." 

And William, who was about six feet two inches in 
height, threw his head back and looked proud of the 
trust. (See Addendum, p. 342.) 

William was armed with the master's own sword, 
which he had had sharpened before handing it to him. 
It had been his when, at the age of fourteen years, he 
had gone to Old Point Comfort, where the British were 
expected to land. The edge had been ground off when 
peace was declared after the war of 1812, and it had 



SLAVES AND WAR-TIMES. 195 

not been sharpened till the Confederate war broke 
out. 

Thomas wrote much for the papers in these days, 
urging every Southerner to take care of the soldiers in 
the field. Five young men, who were guests at Bur- 
leigh in the first spring of the war, were fitted out by 
him and sent off with one hundred dollars apiece, and 
directions to have their bills charged to him. G-ray 
cloth was ordered up from New Orleans, and uniforms 
cut out and made by the dozen in the house and sent 
to the camps. Blankets were not to be bought in any 
Southern market, and he decided to give every one 
that he owned, but his daughters begged to be allowed 
to keep some, and he compromised on giving away 
nineteen of the largest size, about half He wished 
us to cut up the carpets to put on the beds. Great 
boxes of food and wine were sent off to the hospitals. 
He sent his carriage for sick soldiers, and took care of 
them as long as they were allowed to stay, treating 
each private as if he were the commander-in-chief of 
the army. 

He greatly enjoyed a dinner that he gave to General 
John C. Breckenridge and a brilliant party of officers 
and friends in September of 1862. It was the last en- 
tertainment given at Burleigh before the tide of war 
swept over it. Tbere were about eighteen guests, 
among them some friends from 'New Orleans, — Mr. 
Needier Jennings, Mr. George W. Ward, and Mr. Yio- 
let, Andrew Jackson Polk, of Tennessee, and the Hon. 
Senator Gwynn, of California. Two of our own soldier 
boys were there on furlough, Edward Dabney and 
Augustine Dabney's son, Thomas Gregory Dabney. 

Everybody was full of hope. None then realized the 
true state of things, that Yicksburg would fall and all 
our part of the country be overrun. Yicksburg bad 
stood two sieges, and we thought that little city impreg- 
nable, and the gay company assured the ladies that 
they should be defended, and should never see the war 
more near-by. 

General Breckenridge had been called the handsomest 
man in the United States when he was a candidate for 



196 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

the Yice-Presidency a few years before. It would be 
impossible to exaggerate the beauty of his person or 
the grace and courtesy of his bearing. His face was 
one of classic beauty, and his figure worthy in it^ pro- 
portions to bear the massive head, so superbly set upon 
the shoulders; but to see him mounted on his war- 
horse, riding as if he and the charger were one, the 
long black plumes of his hat nodding with every move- 
ment, his eye fired with enthusiasm, this was th< most 
impressive picture that had met our eyes. As we stood 
on the porch the next morning watching the receding 
cavalcade, they waved their hats and saluted till the 
bend in the road shut them from our view. 

The Burleigh family had cause to remember the 
second siege of Yicksburg. One of the daughters, 
Sophy, lay halting between life and death. Her physi- 
cian informed the family that any excitement would 
probably be fatal, and on no account must the impend- 
ing siege of Yicksburg be alluded to in the sick-room. 
We had heard every gun of the first siege, and this 
one was expected to begin every hour. 

Presently a dull, booming sound was heard ; it an- 
nounced that the siege had opened. The watchers 
hoped that the patient slept. A moment more and an- 
other and another gun broke the stillness. 

" What is that?" she asked. 

"Isn't it thunder?" somebody suggested. 

" Thunder does not sound at regular intervals. The 
siege of Yicksburg has begun." 

But it did not excite her, as we had feared it would, 
and though every shot seemed to go through the loud- 
beating hearts of the father and sisters during those 
long days of suspense, she did not seem to attend, and 
got well as fast as if there had been no siege of Yicks- 
burg. 

The plantation life went on as usual. The servants 
went about their duties, we thought, more conscien- 
tiously than before. They seemed to do better when 
there was trouble in the white family, and they knew 
that there was trouble enough when all the young men 
Iq the family were off at the wars. They sewed on the 



SLAVES AND WAR-TIMES. 197 

soldiers' clothes and knit socks for the army, and i^acked 
the boxes with as much alacrity as the white people 
did. They were our greatest comfort during the war. 
When hostilities began, the younger children were 
taught by a tutor who had been in the family for sev- 
eral years. Mr. Dabney had not thought of sending 
him away, though he was a Northern man, and, it was 
to be supposed, with Northern sympathies. He was 
so quiet that we at Burleigh rarely thought of his 
sympathies, for he never seemed to speak if he could 
avoid it. But the neighbors had a report that he was 
a spy, and Mr. Dabney was informed of it, with a re- 
quest that Mr. T should be dismissed. This was 

communicated to the tutor in the kindest manner, and 
the man was moved to tears as Thomas talked with 
him. 

Thomas Dabney originated the scheme for the Con- 
federate government to raise money by getting out 
bonds on the basis of the cotton then in the hands of 
the planters. The cotton bonds supplied the sinews of 
war during the early part of the struggle. 

At a trial of strength between himself and five young 
men who were guests in his house for a month or two 
before they went off to the war, he held out at arm's 
length a weight that was too heavy for them to hold 
out. 

One day after his beloved wife had been dead about 
a year, Thomas was lying on his bed in his chamber, 
one of his daughters and a niece sitting by him. He 
began to sing the song that had so often been begged 
for in vain by their children.— the song that had won 
their mother's heart. 

He sang it from beginning to end. As he came to 
the last line, he struck with his clinched fist upon his 
breast, — 

" Do they think that I can forget you I Do they 
think that I can forget you !" he cried. 

Some one, little knowing the man, had spoken to 
him jestingly of marrying again in this early stage of 
his grief. 
The Episcopal Church of St. Mark's, at Eaymond, 
17* 



198 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

had been built years before the war, and had been the 
parish church of Thomas and his family. The drive 
of ten miles did not seem inconvenient then. But it 
became impossible to get so far afterwards. The fam- 
ily fell into a way of reading the service at home, and 
the neighbors liked to attend, and the large household 
was frequently swelled to quite a congregation. Occa- 
sionally the bishop or one of the clergy were there, 
and were surprised to see the number that could be 
gathered together, almost without giving out any no- 
tice. In the afternoon the daughters held a service 
and Sunday-school for the negroes, and the large library 
was well filled by them. They delighted in the chants 
and hymns, and knew much of the service and the 
catechism by heart. 

Many years after they were free, a brawny black- 
smith sent a message to his teachers of these days, 
" Tell de ladies I ain't forgit what dey teach me in de 
Sunday-school." 

Thomas never allowed anything to interfere with his 
attending the services. Oftentimes friends came in, or 
other things happened that made it an effort to break 
off. But when the hour came, he would say, quietly, 
" We always have the service at eleven o'clock on Sun- 
days," and the guests were invited to join him. It was 
a surprise to many who knew him only as a charming 
companion, always ready for any sort of amusement 
tliat was not reallj" wicked. Some persons who had 
not been in a church for years felt constrained to go in 
to these services. The quiet dignity of the head of the 
house made it difficult to approach him with a light 
excuse. 

He did not himself lead the daily family prayers in 
his house, or conduct the church services on Sundays. 
His deep humility made him feel unworthy to take this 
part. 

He loved to hear his daughters read the service and 
the prayers. If for any reason they were omitted, he 
would ask for them. When he was sick, we always 
had the services around his bed. He was not one to 
express his religious feelings, but no one felt more deeply 



SLAVES AND WAR-TIMES. I99 

or reverently. His faith was that of a little child, with- 
out a doubt, or shadow of one. He did not seem even to 
know what was meant by religious doubts. I do not 
believe that in the course of his life he ever questioned 
the truth of revealed religion for five consecutive min- 
utes. The subject did not interest him, and he never 
took part in any conversation bearing on it. 

And yet he was not a communicant, and he was 
passing through life with that error fixed in his mind, 
that one must feel worthy before one can without 
hypocris}' become a communicant. It was a happi- 
ness to him to see his children go up to be confirmed 
as they grew up. In his humility, he thought them 
better than himself. 

One Sunday only himself and a daughter were left 
in the house ; everybody else was away. She had not 
thought of going through with the services under the 
circumstances. But her father asked, — 

"Will you not have the services, my child?" 

" I had not meant to do it. I thought that we could 
read to ourselves." 

" I want you to read the services, my dear," he said, 
in his humble, gentle way that always came when he 
spoke of these things. So they two went through the 
full service together. 

When they were not far from the end, there came a 
knock at the door; a neighbor had come to spend the 
day. His daughter thought that Thomas would not 
ask her to go on, as the visitor was one who was not a 
religious man. But he said at once, — 

" My daughter and I are having prayers." 

And the visitor joined in with a very earnest face. 
He had not before seen this side of my father's char- 
acter. 

In the spring of 1863 Thomas Dabney began to feel 
that his children were in one of the worst places in the 
world for non-combatants, the neighborhood of a be- 
leaguered city. He lamented that all his children were 
not sons. He longed more and more to go into the 
army as the fighting drew closer to us. He ordered an 
army uniform to be made for himyelf, and we feared 



200 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

that we should not be able to keep him with us. Hia 
intense suiferings from loneliness urged him, no less than 
his love for the military life, to plunge into the excite- 
ment now so near at hand. In his grief he said not 
infrequently in these days that it would have been 
better for him if he had had no children left him to 
take care of. All the men in the land who were men 
indeed were off in the army; the whole country seemed 
forsaken, except by the old men and the boys and the 
women and children. He envied every soldier in the 
ranks, and felt like a chained lion. Not to go into the 
army cost him, without a doubt, the greatest struggle 
of his life. 

The rumor came that the whole country around 
Yicksburg was to be abandoned to the enemy. Already 
General Grant's troops were moving on Yicksburg, and 
that place would soon be in a state of siege. The citi- 
zens were fleeing in every direction. Thomas Dabney, 
feeling that he had a home and food to offer to these 
hoQieless ones, caused to be inserted in one of the 
Yicksburg papers an invitation to any and all citizens 
desirous of leaving the city to take refuge at Burleigh. 

One family of Louisiana refugees had come to ub 
before this. This invitation brought out an English- 
woman, Mrs. Allen, and her two children, and later on 
her husband. 

At this juncture our hopes were raised by the arrival 
of an oflficer, sent out by General Pemberton, with 
orders to seize every pleasure horse in the country. A 
large body of men were to be mounted, we were told, 
and this body of cavalry was to patrol the countr}^ lyi"g 
around Yicksburg; and even to relieve that place when 
the time came. The officer was astonished when he 
was hailed as the bringer of joyful tidings. Many 
ladies, he said, had shed tears when their carriage and 
other favorite horses had been carried off by him. Ho 
had gotten nervous, and hated to come among the 
women of the country with that dreadful order in his 
hand. Every horse in the Burleigh stables was brought 
out freely. One riding horse was exempted from the 
draft as a necessary part of the plantation equipment. 



SLAVES AND WAR-TIMES. 201 

My father preferred to retain his buggy horse, Gold 
Dust, and he was allowed to do so. 

Alas ! in a few weeks Gold Dust was to be in the 
service of the enemy and pitted against his own mas- 
ter's son, and against the Burleigh carriage horses and 
other equine acquaintances of the stables and pastures. 
When last seen our carriage horses, powerful young 
roans, were on the battle-field of Big Black in the ar- 
tilleiy service. 

We now set to work to bury the money and silver. 
Some of our friends had buried their watches, and so 
destroyed them. We sewed up our watches and sucli 
valuables as would be spoiled by dampness in the form 
of a bustle, and gave it to our trusted Aunt Abby to 
wear. Mammy Maria was too nervous and cried too 
much to have any responsibility put on her. Large 
hoops were in fashion at this time, and we tied our sil- 
ver in bags and put these under our hoops, and went 
out one May day a mile from the house to a rock-quarry. 
Here we dug a hole with the dinner-knives that we had 
secreted about our persons for the purpose, and in this 
hole we placed our valuables. Then we put over them 
the largest stone that six or seven girls could move. 

As we were not in the habit of walking out in the 
hot sun, some one proposed that we should dig up a 
young holly, or something of the kind, and set it out 
on our return to the house. This would account, it 
was thought, to the servants for our walk. So we 
pulled up a shrub or two and set them out as soon as 
we got home. 

Mammy Maria watched these proceedings in silence, 
and then said in her brusque waj^, and in her capacity 
of a privileged servant, "You needn't think you is 
foolin' me. I know you don't go out in de hot sun in 
May to set out trees an' 'spect 'em to live." 

The children buried tlieir treasures too ; Tom, a 
powder-can, as the most prized of his possessions. It 
was of a brilliant red, and a late acquisition, and might 
be coveted by the enemy. Little Lelia buried her dolls 
and their wardrobes securely in a hole dug in the green- 
house. Lelia's nurse, who helped at the frequent ex- 



202 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

humings and re-interments, as rumors of the war were 
cheering or alarming, — for we had a fresh rumor nearly 
every day, — was true to her, but Tom was less fortunate 
in his confidant, and that red powder-can was near cost- 
ing the thirteen-year-old boy his life. Ida buried her 
chief treasure, a pair of cheap china vases, a quarter 
of a mile from the house, down the spring hill. 

In the midst of all this Mrs. Allen's baby died. One 
of the plantation carpenters made a coffin, and the Bur- 
leigh family buried the little child. No clergyman was 
to be had. Many of them were gone as chaplains in 
the army. Our pastor led his company into the first 
battle of Manassas. 

The baby was buried in the park under a small oak- 
tree. The deer, seeing the procession of the family and 
the coffin borne by the negro men come in, with the 
curiosity of their species drew near. The gentler ones 
mingled with the group around the open grave, one 
special pet licking the hands of her human friends and 
stretching out her beautiful neck to reach the flowers 
that the young children had brought to strew on the 
little coffin. 

The rude coffin and the absence of the minister, and 
of any white man save one silvery-haired one, spoke 
of war. But it was a beautiful and peaceful scene. 
The setting sun threw its slanting rays on the deer as 
they stood in the background near the forest-trees, and 
on the little gi'oup gathered close to the grave. 

A woman's voice was repeating the solemn ritual of 
the Episcopal Church for the burial of the dead. 



CHAPTER XYII. 

A WEEK WITHIN THE LINES. 

The next rumor that came was that we were left 
within the enemy's lines, and it was true. Thomas 
Dabney thought it best to stay quietly at home and 



A WEEK WITHIN THE LINES. 203 

take the best care that he could of his family, both 
white and black. But his daughters became nervous 
and alarmed about his personal safety under such cir- 
cumstances. He had been conspicuous in helping the 
Southern cause in every way in his power, by money 
and hospitality, and through the public journals of the 
State. We had heard of rough treatment of aged men 
found in their homes by the Northern soldiery. We 
heard later of the murder of two unarmed old gentle- 
men, Mr. Sam Smith, of Mathews County, Virginia, 
and Mr. Hyde, of Louisiana. Mr. Sam Smith was 
hanged near his place, and Mr. Hyde was burned up in 
his own house. 

We made up our minds that our father should not 
risk his life if we could prevent it. The Federal troops 
might now be looked for at any hour. We wept and 
entreated him to leave us, and finally told him that if 
he did not we should go out of the house ourselves and 
seek a place of safety, knowing well that he would not 
allow us to go unattended by himself We represented 
to him that we should be far safer without him, and 
cited to him many instances where the Northern troops 
had been kind to the women who had no men to pro- 
tect them, and very rough with those who had one of 
their own sex in the house. We entreated him by 
day and by night until he could no longer resist our 
tears and prayers. With a heavy heart he bade us 
good-by. 

The neighbors were carrying their servants to the 
east side of Pearl Eiver, within the Confederate lines. 
We urged him to take a part of his there. He was 
opposed to this, and justly so. It would show a lack 
of trust in them, he said. Besides, it would be too great 
a strain of their obedience to him if he ordered his 
able-bodied men and women to leave their families be- 
hind and follow him. But he yielded his own judgment 
in this case also. 

Most reluctantly he called for his young men and 
women, and told them that they must prepare to go 
with him twenty-seven miles into the Pearl River 
swamp. They obeyed cheerfully, and he kept them 



204 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHER^ PLANTER. 

there against their inclination and against his, under 
uncomfortable conditions, for a week. 

Meanwhile, at Burleigh we breathed freely when we 
saw our dear father ride off. The overseer was an 
easy-going man, who had not, like him, helped to carry 
on the war, and he expected to pass unnoticed as an 
obscure person and a non-combatant. He was to have 
control of things in the master's absence. 

It was not long before the news came that a company 
of eighty Federals, from General Grant's army, had 
reached the plantation, and had encamped in a field on 
the Tallahala Creek, only a half-mile from the house. 
They were near enough for us to hear the reveille in 
the morning and the tattoo at night. , 

Yery soon some of them rode up, by twos and threes, 
and came into the house. At first they were civil, but 
each day they grew more and more rough, and finally 
they became violent. They went into every room 
from the garret to the cellar, and through every closet, 
wardrobe, bureau, and trunk, and carried off every- 
thing that struck their fancy. They found several 
hundred dollars in the iron safe, and thought it a 
fortune. They looked like the dregs of some city. 
We have thought they must have been the camp- 
followers of General Grant's array, and. not his regu- 
larly enlisted men. They were scarcely in uniform; 
perhaps a blue jacket on one and trousers on another, 
the rest of the garb being of any hue or cut other 
than a military one. 

When keys were not produced at once, they forced 
the locks. Lelia's doll-trunk, only a few inches long, 
caught the eye of one of them. 

" Do not break the child's doll-trunk. It has nothing 
in it but doll-clothes," one of her sisters said, when the 
key could not be found. 

"It is big enough to hold a pistol," he said, as he 
burst the top of the toy off. 

A broken -open desk revealed the love-letters of one 
of the girls, and the perusal of these seemed amusing 
work. 

They found the wine-cellar, and drank until they 



A WEEK WITHIN THE LINES. 205 

were intoxicated. Then they called to the negroes to 
come up into the porch to join them, as ihoy struck 
the necks off the bottles of wine. The negroes stood 
around the porch, but only one accepted thcTinvitation. 
The others looked on silently while a loud-voiced 
drunken fellow, who seemed to be the leader, an- 
nounced that he had come to hang the old gray-haired 
scoundrel to whom all this belong^ed. 

"I will hang your father on the nearest tree, under 
your eyes," he said to the daughters. "He is well 
known. I have long known him as an aider and abet- 
tor in this rebellion. I mean to get him yetr I hear 
that he is coming home in a few days." And then he 
cursed and swore dreadful oaths. 

One of them shook a whip over Emmy's head because 
she said, '^ Sister, do not be frightened. Only cowards 
try to scare women and children." 

" You had better not exasperate me," he cried, shak- 
ing a whip passionately over her. He was drunk 
enough to go any lengths. In the midst of all they 
called up Tom and ordered him to produce the lar<4 
quantity of powder that he had buried. He denied all 
knowledge of any buried powder, not recollecting at 
the moment that he had buried a powder-can. Bein^ 
inflamed with drink, they became very ano-ry at his 
supposed obstinacy and falsehood. Holding a pistol to 
his head, they commanded him to bring the powder 
or his brains should be shot out. They marched the 
boy across the yard and down the declivity of the hill 
in this way. We expected every minute to see the 
pistol go off, whether the man willed it or not. It 
came to Tom, or to somebody, that the men must refer 
to the powder-can, and he took them to the spot. 
Ihey dug It up, and were disgusted to find it emptv. 
Our ittle black boy, Peter, had told the soldiers of this 
powder-can. He was with Tom when he buried it. 

We did not see Peter for many years after this oc- 
currence. A few years ago an emaciated and pre- 
maturely aged negro man came to the kitchen door to 
beg He was ill, he said, and starving for something 
good to eat,— would we give him some pickle ? 

18 



206 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

It was our Peter. We could not see a trace of his 
former self in him. He spent the day by the kitchen 
fire, and said that he should come often to see us, but 
it was evident that his days were numbered, and we 
saw him no more. He died a few weeks after. 

One of the soldiers said that Lelia was just the age 
of his girl, and asked for a kiss, much to her alarm, 
for the children looked on the Federal soldiers as little 
less than fiends. She escaped without the kiss, but 
Letty did not. Letty was Augustine's youngest child, 
just Leila's age, and they were the dearest of friends 
and playfellows. One of the men on seeing the three 
little girls, Ida, Lelia, and Lett}^, said something about 
" putty little gals," and asked if " sissy" would not 
give him a kiss, puckering up his mouth with a smack- 
ing sound as he made the proposal. The three fled 
precipitately behind the bed. He pursued, and Letty 
being the hindermost of the little women, and with the 
face of a cherub, suffered the penalty of her position, 
and got the detested kiss. He must have been dis- 
couraged by her reception of it, for he did not attempt 
to kiss the other two. It so chanced that the father's 
valued sword had been thrown behind that bed, with 
the idea of getting it out of sight. The children in 
their haste rushed over it, and it fell with a clatter. 
But the men did not find it, though they looked under 
every bed in their search through the house. 

" There's a heap o' pretty tricks in this house," one 
of them remarked, " not to be any silver." 

They asked the servants about the silver, but none 
of them gave a satisfactory answer. Aunt Abby's girl, 
Hannah, had helped to pour peas over the plated-ware 
in a barrel in the cellar. She w^as alarmed at their 
questions, and told us that they said they were deter- 
mined to get the family silver. "I tole 'em I thought 
you had sent it to Georgia or somewhyar a long time 
ago," she said. The silver and plate had been in Han- 
nah's charge for years, and she did not wish to see it go 
out of the family. We had kept out a few forks and 
spoons for use, and had quite forgotten them, when all 
this searching was going on. But Hannah had them 



A WEEK WITHIN THE LINES. 207 

on her mind and took care to hide them, and they were 
not found by the soldiers. 

One day they announced their intention of staying 
to dinner. When we went into the dining-room not a 
vestige of a silver spoon or fork was to be seen. Han- 
nah had found a set of steel forks that had been stowed 
away somewhere, and she had got together an array 
of iron spoons, — one was at each plate, and a number 
were in the middle of the table. 

The sight of these iron spoons, of all sizes and ages, 
created a revulsion, and we did not dare to look up at 
Hannah or at each other lest we should laugh out- 
right. 

Hannah walked around with such an air, as much as 
to say that she had not heard us talk and read the 
papers for nothing! 

. The cook, Maria Eeeves, whom my father had bought 
at her own request, was always devoted to him. " Please, 
marster, bu}' me. You is so good to your people," she 
had said. She and Hannah must have got that dinner 
up between them. In our experience of Maria we 
never knew her to serve so wretched a dinner as she 
sent up on that day. A small dish of fried meat was 
at one end of the long table, and a plate of corn bread 
at the other, if I remember correctly, and a very in- 
suflScient quantity of either. Our guests ate very little, 
and did not again stay to a meal. 

The cook, good, simple soul, thought tlicy would 
want her pots and kettles. One day she secreted her- 
self and all her cooking utensils in a gully, and she and 
we had no dinner that day. When she came to tell us 
about it that night, she looked woe-begone enough, and 
we told her that it was not necessary to take such pre- 
cautions in future. 

Papa had taken off his two fine imported rifles. He 
left a number of others of less value behind, the sport- 
ing guns of his sons. There were eleven of them in 
the hall. The Federals took them all out and broke 
them against two young water-oaks that had been set 
out that spring. It killed the two trees. 

One day they got more angry than usual, and swore 



208 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

with many oaths that they meant to shoot the overseer. 
They were drunk enough to do it. They gave him five 
minutes to prepare for death. The man was no coward. 
He said simply, " God will be merciful to my soul. 
He knows that I am taken suddenly in my sins. My 
poor wife and children !" He closed his eyes for a few 
minutes in prayer, and then said, " I am relld3^" 

But we had called the two little girls up, — Lett}^ and 
Lelia. We told them that they might save this man's 
life by their tears and prayers. We had argued and 
entreated in vain, — children might bo listened to when 
grown people's prayers could avail nothing. The chil- 
dren burst out crying, wailing, as we knew they would, 
and threw their arms around Mr. Scarborough. Their 
innocent, childish grief made a scene that was more 
than the men had bargained for. One of the sisters 
threw herself between the pistol and Mr. Scarborough's 
body, saying that he had stayed there to protect us, 
and he should not be murdered. 

Debased as the men were, they decided to release 
Mr. Scarborough and end this scene. 

We then begged Mr. Scarborough to go home to his 
family. He had been cursed and dragged about the 
yard by his collar, and finally came near losing his life 
at the hands of a squad of irresponsible camp-followers, 
as we supposed the^^ were. No one could protect us, 
and the sight of him seemed to exasperate the men. 
So Mr. Scarborough went home, and only women and 
children remained in the house, about twelve of us 
perhaps. 

The men called up the negroes and asked if it were 
true that all the horses had been carried off the place 
by the Southern army, or ridden off by the owners. 
All knew that Gold Dust was hidden in the Avoods, 
under the charge of Uncle Harrison, and was fed and 
watered by him every morning and night. But not 
one answered. 

One of the ladies became alarmed lest Uncle Harri- 
son's fidelity to the family should be betrayed, which 
might get him into trouble with the men. She an- 
swered that a horse was hidden in the woods. 



A WEEK WITHIN THE LINES. 209 

" "Who can take me to him ?" one of them said. 

" Uncle Harrison," she replied. 

The man ordered Uncle Harrison to show the way 
to the horse. 

He did not move, but, instead, looked at his mistress. 

" Go, Uncle Harrison," she said. 

"Must I, missis?" and the old man moved off re- 
luctantly. He had hidden him away off in the deep 
woods, where they could never have found him, he ex- 
plained afterwards. 

When the horse was brought up, one of these rough 
fellows leaped on his back and struck him witli his 
great whip. The fine creature, that had been trained 
to go by the word and the reins, and did not know the 
meaning of a whip, reared and danced with pain. 

The man Edmund who had drunk a glass of wine in 
the porch had always been a bad negro. He was set 
as a sentinel to prevent our leaving the house. We 
saw him standing on the quarters' hill about a quarter 
of a mile off watching the house.* Perhaps it was 
believed that we would attempt to carry off valuables. 
All night long the cavalry galloped around the house, 
sometimes under the very windows. We could not 
sleep for the noise of their horses' hoofs. 

The servants were as respectful and kind as ever, 
more so indeed. Aunt Abby crept in the house and 
handed back the package containing watches and othei 
trinkets. "I cyarn't keep it any longer," she sobbed, 
while the tears poured down her venerable face. " Dey 
tells me dey has a wand, and dat wand will pint to 
an3^thing dey tell it. I gave up all I had. I had a 
tuQibler glass full o' money, presents, an' things dat de 
ladies had give to me, — half-dollars an' things. I give 
'em all up. But I couldn't give up your things. But 
de wand will pint an' dey will git 'em, an' I bring 'em 
back to you now." 



* When the war was over, " Edmund Dabney," as he signed himself, 
wrote to his old master begging to be allowed to return to Burleigh. 
He sent messages of humble apology by all passing negroes. He wa# 
never allowed to return. 

o 18* 



210 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

They had taken all the money from every negro on 
the plantation. Uncle Isaac had buried eighty dollars 
in gold, — the savings of years. This he was made to 
uneartli. He had lately bought a new silver watch, for 
which he had paid forty dollars. This was taken from 
him. Uncle Isaac was not a special favorite with his 
master, but he had been his playfellow in babyhood and 
boyhood. Partly for this reason, and partly because he 
was the master's own age, sixty-three years, and had 
been for years afflicted with incurable lameness, Thomas 
Dabney made him a present of a pair of his old carriage 
horses. Uncle Isaac was a preacher, and the horses 
were intended to give him ease and comfort in going 
about and in ploughing his own little patch. These 
horses he sold to a stage-driver for fifty dollars. His 
master was disgusted, as he had not wished the horses 
to do hard work. 

When Uncle Isaac was robbed he came to the house 
to pour out his full heart to us. He went over again 
his old story of being a child of the same year as mas- 
ter, and of his getting a share of the nourishment that 
nature had provided for the white baby " in your 
grandma's arms, an' I called her ma an' your pa 
brother till I knowed better myself. She never tole 
me to stop." 

It will be remembered that my father was during 
this period about forty miles from home within our 
lines. Every morning when he woke up his body-ser- 
vant, George Page, told him of the number of his ser- 
vants who had slipped away, back to the plantation, in 
the darkness of the preceding night. They were home- 
sick, and doubtless suspected that their master was as 
homesick as they were, and only half-hearted in keep- 
ing them in the swamp. 

As the numbers of the servants diminished day by 
day, George Page, like Caleb Osbaldistone, tried to 
make up in himself for what he looked on as the lack 
of loyalty on the part of the other servants. They 
were field negroes; he belonged to the house, and his 
manner to his master, during these days in th*^ swamp, 
was touching in its blending of alfection witb respect. 



A WEEK WITHIN THE LINES. 211 

He had left bis wife and a houseful of children of all 
ages, to whom he was tenderly attached, on the plan- 
tation. He let his master know in every way that he 
was ready to stay by his side as long as be wished him. 

At Burleigh we heard every day of the arrival of the 
different negroes. We knew that our father yearned 
to follow them, and that he would do so soon. Each 
hour we trembled lest we should see him ride up. 

It was at this time that we resolved to get to him be- 
fore he could reach us. We had been living within the 
lines for a week, and we felt that we could no longer 
stay in our home under the increasing anxieties. 

We packed a few necessary things in two trunks to 
be taken off by Uncle Isaac in a cart, and we prepared 
to get away on foot at daylight, before the soldiers 
came from the camp. They had said on leaving us the 
evening before that they were coming back in the 
morning for the silver and to send pickets in ever}'- 
direction to search for papa, and to burn up the house 
and us in it, too. 

Heavy firing had been going on towards the north 
for some days. The Federal soldiers had told us with 
loud boasts that they were whipping our Southern 
soldiers from the battle-fields. Fortunately, we did not 
know that Edward was in these fights. We were as 
completely cut off from the outer world as if we had 
been ourselves in a state of siege, and knew nothing 
except what they told us. We tried not to believe 
their stories of our disasters. But they were true. 
We heard the battle of Eaymond on the 12th, on the 
14th the battle of Jackson, and on the morning of the 
16th the heaviest firing that we had yet heard came 
from the battle-field of Baker's Creek, — Champion 
Hill General Grant called it. Fifteen thousand Union 
soldiers and twenty-three thousand Southern soldiers 
were present at that battle ; but six thousand six hun- 
dred and sixty-six Southern muskets were not fired, 
owing to some disagreement between the commanders 
it was said. 

When the sound of these guns reached our ears wo 
were speeding away from home as fast as our feet 



212 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

could cany us. We were belated the morning of the 
16th, and did not get off till near sunrise, and then so 
hurriedly that one was bareheaded. 

We had not a moment to lose. In point of fact, we 
were pursued eight miles by two soldiers. They did 
not overtake us, but were themselves overtaken and 
hanged by Southern soldiers. They had about their 
persons the monc}' and jewelry that they had taken 
from us and our neighbors. They had gone out too 
far from their lines in their eager chase. 

They did not reach the house till we had been gone 
about two hours. They were angry that we had gotten 
oif without giving up the silver and other valuables, 
which they felt sure we had secreted. The}' threatened 
to burn the house and then pursue us. Mrs. Allen, 
who was making her home at Burleigh, claimed her 
right to protection as a British subject, and they went 
off cursing, as they hurried after us. 

Two miles from the house we met our father, with 
George Page riding close by his side, and the other 
negroes following. He was coming to us, as we knew 
that he would do. He hired a wagon and put us in it, 
and in this we travelled for a w^eek across the country 
to the Mobile and Ohio Eailroad. A little negro girl 
had accompanied us, running out of the woods to join 
us, just as we were turning out of sight of the Bur- 
leigh house. 

"I want to go wid de white ladies," she said. "I 
didn't tell nobody, 'cus I was 'feared dey wouldn't 
lemme go. I was so 'feared de white ladies would git 
away 'fore I wake up." 

So the plantation had known of our intention of 
leaving, and we had not been betrayed to the soldiers ! 

Papa had but twenty dollars in his pocket. We had 
run off without money; all that we had was buried 
within the enemy's lines. Everything was dear in the 
country through which we passed. We lived on a few 
square inches of corn bread and a few square inches of 
bacon a day during that week. 

We could not see that little shiny-faced black chil 1 
hungry after such trust in us. Each of the grown pe?- 



A WEEK WITHIN THE LINES. 213 

pie cut off one-third of the allotted pittance of bread 
and of meat for Amy. The children seeincr this did the 
same with their portions, and Amy was the only soul 
in that wagon who was not hungry during that week. 
She had no clothes, either, but the things that she had 
on. Her dress was of white cotton, clean and spotless 
during the first day only. We were wearing black for 
our dearest mother. Yery soon we had to dress Amy 
up in one of our black dresses from the scant contents 
of the two trunks. She was the best and most useful 
of little maids, and happy to the end of her short life. 
She died of pneumonia a year from this time, mourned 
by all the family. She could never be made to admit 
that she was homesick or sorry for having cast her for- 
tunes m with the "white ladies." 

We spent a week in a wretched house near Enter- 
prise, Mississippi. At the end of this time J. E. Ecrgles- 
ton, who had lately married Sarah Dabney, came up 
from Mobile with money to relieve present embarrass- 
ments and to take the family to Mobile. 

Two of us were bareheaded as we travelled on the 
train and through the streets of Mobile. Three houses 
were thrown open to us,— Dr. Frank Boss's, Major Wil- 
liam Eoss's, and General Zachariah Deas's. 

We rested for one week under the roof of Dr. Frank 
Eoss and his dear wife, and then took possession free 
of rent, of the house of General Zachariah Deas. ' The 
hospitable Mobile people said that they were happy to 
do anything in their power for soldiers or refuo-ees 
We lived for six months in the Deas house. But two 
months of wretched anxiety and suspense were ahead 
of us when we reached Mobile on that lovely day in 
May We heard then for the first time that General 
Pemberton's command had fallen back into Yicksburir 
after the engagement at Baker's Creek. Edward was 
m this division, and we did not hear of his safety till 
two weeks after the surrender of Yicksburg. He rode 
to Mobile on horseback after his parole, and^his appear- 
ance at the door was our first tidings of him. In the 
torn-up condition of the country it was often impossible 
to get letters through. 



214 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

One of Thomas Dabney's friends, Adam Giifen, of 
]N"ew Orleans, himself a refugee in Mobile at this time, 
came to oifer his purse to the family of his friend. 
Thomas was absent and his daughter refused to accept 
the mone}", fearing that she would not be able to re- 
pay it. " I do not care if I never see it again," Mr. 
Giffen said, as he thrust two thousand dollars into her 
hand. "Your father will pay me some day if he can, 
and if he cannot, I shall not consider it a debt." 

She then tried to give to Mr. Giffen a receipt for the 
money, but he refused to receive it. 

" A receipt from your father's daughter ! No, indeed, 
and no thanks either." In a few weeks Thomas was 
able to return the two thousand dollars to his generous 
friend. 

The cavalry company had withdrawn from their 
camp on the Tallahala Creek. Soon after the negroes 
were brought down to Mobile, — the one hundred who 
had not left the plantation. The money and silver and 
wearing apparel also of the family were brought down, 
and a good many books and a few other things that 
were valued as mementos. Then a sale was held at 
Burleigh, and not only were the furniture, etc., sold out 
of the house, but the stock and plantation implements 
of all sorts were disposed of. Our father was opposed 
to giving up the accumulations of years in this manner, 
but he yielded to his daughters, and the plantation and 
home were stripped bare. A handful of Confederate 
money was all that was brought by the sale. 



CHAPTER XYIII. 

REFUGEES. 



At the end of the six months in Mobile, papa de- 
cided to take his family to Macon, Georgia. There he 
bought a little cottage with four diminutive rooms. 
As we drove up to it in the old family carriage, which 



REFl GEES. 215 

we had been able still to keep, he handed us out, say. 
ing in his bright way, " "Welcome to Burleigh No. 2." 

He could not make his servants as comfortable as he 
wished, and this was a source of regret to him. Many 
of them were hired in good homes, near enough to come 
to him if they were in trouble; but some of them he 
preferred not to hire out, as they were not strong, and 
these, he said, were too much crowded for their health. 
They did not complain of this specially, and they seemed 
really to enjoy the novelty of town life. 

Mammy Maria, who had left two husbands in Mis- 
sissippi, cauie out in the new country as " Miss Dab- 
ney," and attracted, as she informed her " white chil- 
dren," as much admiration as any of the young girls, 
and had offers of marriage too. But she meant to en- 
joy her liberty, she said, and should not think of mar- 
rying any of them. 

In that small cottage in Macon the rooms were little 
more than closets, and we were much thrown together. 
We were strangers too in Georgia, although we had 
some very good friends there ; then the times were 
sad. We never felt the family ties stronger than we 
did in that year in Macon, in a house that was built for 
the humblest class of factory people. It was near the 
railroad station, and in the midst of the factories, and 
we had to stop talking at the train hours and when the 
factory whistles blew. 

But the dear father had no plantation to attend to, 
and not much to feel interest in besides his little fire- 
side and his absent children. So he sat with us, and 
he grew interested in everything that we said and did, 
and we talked to him as freely as if he had been an- 
other sister. At night he left the door of his sleeping 
cabinet open, and we left ours open. We had never 
been so intimate with him before. One cannot be in a 
large house, with rooms on different floors. He joined 
in all our talks, as we sisters lay in bed in our room 
and he in his room, and shared all our jokes. Ever 
since our mother's death he had been in the habit of 
singing in the middle of the night. We found out that 
it was because he was lonely, with no one to talk to. 



216 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

In this cottage, when he sang his funny songs in the 
night, we laughed out, and he would be delighted to 
hear us. Then always a talk sprang up, and we talked 
till we were all sleepy. The calling from bed to bed of 
anything that was interesting or amusing, and many 
things that would hardly have seemed amusing at other 
times, brought out shouts of laughter and applause in 
our midnight gossipings. He enjoyed it like a boy on 
a lark, as the whole party did. 

During our year in Macon he had the pleasure of 
meeting General Joseph E. Johnston, for whom he had 
a high admiration. An amusing incident occurred one 
day when General Johnston came to call on him. Lelia 
had wished much to see the hero of whom everybody 
was talking. Her nurse was fired with the same de- 
sire, and they planned a way of getting a sight of him 
through a transom over the parlor door. Accordingly 
chairs and boxes were piled up, and she and Lelia 
mounted to the top of the pile. But an unlucky move- 
ment caused the structure to totter, and it fell with a 
crash on the floor of the little back gallery. As a 
matter of course, the unusual noise made papa open 
the door to see what was the matter, and this revealed 
Lelia and poor Milly overcome with confusion and 
shame at having brought disgrace on the house at 
such a time. Papa was struck with the ridiculous as- 
pect of the wreck and the culprits, and when General 
Johnston had heard the explanation he laughed heart- 
ily, and insisted on having the child brought in. He 
doubtless looked on the thing as a compliment to him- 
self, as he had good right to do. But the child in her 
faded Confederate homespun. frock, and Milly, the aider 
and abettor in the misdemeanor, were very uncomfort- 
able as to their share in the adventure. Milly had a 
]"ight to special indulgence, and the whole thing was 
laughed off. 

Milly was in Raymond at the time the battle was 
fought two miles from that place, having been sent 
thither to learn dress-making. She was dreadfully 
frightened by the guns, and ran about crying, " Oh, J 
am 'feared dey will kill de ladies at Burleigh." 



REFUGEES. 217 

When G-eneral Stoneman made his raid on Macon, 
Thomas and his son were among the troops who went 
out to meet him. The following are Thomas Dabney, 
Jr's., recollections of this event : 

"In the latter part of July, 1864, General Stoneman 
was sent by General Sherman to capture Macon, 
Georgia, to liberate the United States prisoners there 
confined, and to destroy the arsenal and ordnance de- 
partment of the Confederate States of America. 

" General Stoneman, accompanied by several brigades 
of picked men, eluded General Hood's army, and reached 
Macon about an hour before daybreak. But, unfor- 
tunately for him, a severe freshet, which occurred a 
day or two previous to his arrival, had washed the 
bridge over the Ocmulgee River away. The railroad 
bridge, about a mile lower down, was still intact, but 
before General Stoneman could recover from his sur- 
prise the market gardeners and butchers on their way 
to the city discovered his presence, hurried across the 
railroad bridge and gave the alarm. Soon the streets 
rang with the cry of heralds from the mayor calling 
upon every one who could shoulder a gun to run to the 
railroad bridge to defend it at all hazards. 

" Father and I ran to the arsenal and got forty rounds 
of ammunition apiece, and then ran all the way to the 
bridge, over a mile distant. We were among the first 
to arrive, but soon old men and boys began to pour in 
from all quarters. A considerable number of conva- 
lescents from the numerous hospitals located in Macon 
joined us. We were none too soon, for already could 
be seen the long lines of the enemy not over a half- 
mile from the bridge, and every few moments shot and 
shell whistled over the heads of the defenders of that 
bridge. 

" Father's company was Company A, Findley's bat- 
talion, but it generally went by the name of the 'Silver 
Grays,' from the color of the hair of the members. I 
was the only member in it without a gray head. 

" Finally the enem}^ moved his position farther down 
the river, and General Johnston ordered most of hig 
K 19 



218 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

men across the river, leaving Company A to defend the 
bridge. 

" A furious cannonade was opened upon this point, but 
as we, according to orders, were lying behind the rail- 
road embankment, none of the Silver Gra3's were 
touched until Major Taliaferro placed two cannon on 
our side of the river and proposed returning the enemy's 
fire. Yolunteers to man the guns were called for 
In an instant father and many other old gentlemen 
were busy loading the two twenty-poundera that were 
to commit such havoc in those serried blue lines just 
on the crest of yonder hill. Our shot flew wide of the 
mark and the blue lines wavered not. Suddenly the 
enemy ceased firing, and horsemen were seen galloping 
up and down the long line. We were beginning to feel 
much encouraged, when suddenly an old soldier cried 
out, ' Look, the enemy is massing his batteries F It 
was only too true. Cannon seemed to come from every- 
where, and a perfect storm of shot and shell burst upon 
our devoted heads. In a few minutes our guns were 
silenced, but not until several of the Silver Graj'S la}^ 
dead beside the little brazen guns which brought us 
nothing but death. 

" We were ordered to lie down again. The battle 
scene shifted, and finally General Stoneman and most 
of his men were outwitted and captured. A small 
brigade of Texans under the gallant General Gregg, I 
think, coming up in the enemy's rear decided the day 
in our favor. 

" Father and I did not fire a gun during the entire 
day." 

One night while we were in Macon papa was taking 
us to the theatre, and we happened to meet Mammy 
Maria on the way. Hearing where we were going, 
she said, " Why don't you take me too, marster ? I never 
been to the theatre in my life." So he told her to come 
along. When we got there, mammy was quite dis- 
gusted at being told by the door-keeper that she was to 
sit in the gallery, instead of with her white people. 
When the play was over — it was " Taming the Shrew"— 



REFUGEES. 219 

and mammy rejoined us at the door, she was in a state 
of excitement. She had been dreadfully scared by the 
fighting on the stage, and feared that Petruchio might 
go up in the gallery and fight there too. 

After the battle of Eesaca and I^ew Hope Church, 
the wounded were sent to Macon, and they were laid 
out on the floor of the railroad station in long rows. 
Their wounds had been dressed on the field two days 
before, but not since, and they had had no food during 
those days. Thomas Dabney took every available 
thing in tbe house to nourish them, and his daughters, 
under his direction, made lint and tore up linen into 
long strips. They accompanied him, and helped to 
minister to the suffering men, binding up wounds, 
giving them hot tea, milk, and other refreshment. 

The surgeons soon discovered that he understood 
dressing wounds, as he went from one soldier to an- 
other, putting on fresh bandages and helping his 
daughters in cases that they could not manage. 

Years after, as he was getting on a railroad train, a 
man seized his hand, and said, " I can never forget 
you, sir. You dressed my wound at Macon." Thomas 
could not recall the man's face, he had dressed the 
wounds of so many. But the man was not satisfied 
till he made him recollect which one he was. 

" I asked your daughter to dress my w^ound, and she 
said that she could not, but she brought you to do it 
for me." And this recalled the circumstance to his 
memory. 

The only groans heard from those wounded men came 
from two sweet-faced young boys. They were shot 
through the head, and were delirious, and both were 
dying. One of them said, " Kiss me, mother." 

As they left this scene, Thomas's daughter said to 
him, "I could not get to the boy. I begged the lady 
standing near him to kiss him." 

"Yes, I heard you," Thomas replied, in a husky 
voice. 

The lady had passed her hand over the lips of the 
dying lad, and said, " That seems to satisfy him." 



220 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Macon, Georgia, 16tli August, 1864. 
..." Tommy and I belong to an organization com- 
posed of citizens exempt by age, — a fine looking body 
of gentlemen. Tommy, I think, is the only membei 
under fifty years of age."* 

TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Macon, Georgia, 18th September, 1864. 
..." I write now to say, as you may well imagine, 
that our troubles are not ended, the Yankees still 
struggling to reach our abode, poor as it now is. We 
cannot now pretend to know the immediate objects of 
Sherman, but think it prudent to suppose that, either 
immediately or ultimately, Macon will become an object 
of interest with him. Under this view of the subject I 
have concluded to leave here on Wednesday, the 21st 
Inst. I will take the family and the establishment 
of servants to Burleigh. . . . Nothing could be more 
injudicious than an attempt on your part to reach 
us. The trains are all in the hands of the government, 
private travel excluded, except by freight boxes, on 
freight trains. Occasionally a few beg themselves into 
the express car, a close box, and this was the manner 
of my getting Mrs. Grovernor Brown off. We will have 
to go by the freight train, if at all, and I believe I shall 
succeed in this." 

From the day that General Johnston was relieved 
from the command of the Army of Northern Georgia 
Thomas had no hope for the Confederacy, and he now 
wished to take his family back to Burleigh while it 
could yet be done. 

He had never liked Jefferson Davis, and now he was 
confirmed in his view of his character, that he would 
brook no rival to his face. Thomas Dabney had never 
been introduced to Mr. Davis, although he had been 
several times in his company. When friends proposed 

* He was fourteen. 



REFUGEES. 221 

to introduce him he refused. It was a great blow to 
him when Mr. Davis was made the President of the 
Confederacy. Sometimes, in the heat of discussion, he 
would amuse his friends by his prompt reply to the 
question, " Well, who would have done better?" " Why, 
you would." He tried to overcome his prejudice and 
to hope for the best, but still adhered to his resolution 
of not meeting Mr. Davis. He allowed his daugh- 
ters to attend the receptions given to him at Mobile 
and Macon, in his progress through the Confederate 
States, and laughed when he heard from them, after 
each reception, that Mr. Davis had said in shaking 
hands, "Ah, Colonel Dabney's daughters; I am very 
happy to meet you." 

He admired the gallant soldier who was put in Gen- 
eral Johnston's place, but felt, with most other people, 
that General Hood's love of fighting would lead him to 
take too great risks. 
^ By paying several thousand dollars in Confederate 
/ money Thomas was able to charter two cars, and in 
/ these he took his family from Macon, Georgia, to Jack- 
son, Mississippi ; the white family in one and the ser- 
vants in the other. We were two weeks on the jour 
ney, and so well had everything been planned that we 
found it the most comfortable long journey that we had 
ever undertaken. The furniture was placed in our car, 
the beds made up, a table or two, with books and writ- 
ing materials, set about, and the chairs placed as if we 
had been at home in our own house. Even the pet cat, 
whose mother and brothers and sisters had been on 
board the "Gaines" in the naval engagement in Mobile 
Bay, was in that car with us. She had been taken to 
Macon from Mobile, and on her arrival had promptly 
run away. A reward of twenty dollars, offered through 
the morning paper, had brought her back. When 
somebody laughed at the advertisement and thought it 
a joke, papa answered, "It is no joke. I offer it in 
earnest. My daughter is a refugee and has little enough 
to amuse her, and shall not lose the kitten if I can 
help it." 
On our long journey we did not travel at night. 

10* 



222 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

The servants cooked a hot supper and breakfast for us 
and for themselves every da}^, getting out and making 
a fire by the side of the car-track. Sometimes, most 
of the time indeed, they held big religious meetings 
in their car. We could hear the preaching and the 
hymns above the sound of the running cars. As we 
ran very slowly and irregularly, this was not strange 
At several towns we spent a whole day, and on such 
occasions we got off and called on friends and shopped 
a little. 

Our father's sister, Mrs. Chamberlayne, had joined 
him in Georgia, and accompanied us to our Mississippi 
home. A more delightful companion could not be 
imagined. Her rare mental gifts, disciplined and 
brightened by a lifetime of steady and judicious read- 
ing, inspired the most profound admiration in the circle 
of young people who gathered around her. She was 
practical, too, and made many happy suggestions to 
promote the comfort of the party. 

Papa was singularly simple and unobservant in some 
of his ways. This peculiarity led him into an amusing 
contretemps on this journey. 

A sudden shower had caught several of us as we 
w^ere out walking while laying up for the night at Co- 
lumbus, Georgia. One of the daughters was drenched 
to the skin, and had no dress to make a change. Our 
good neat Hannah had a blue homespun, which she had 
just washed and ironed in the nicest fashion, and it was 
decided to borrow her dress rather than run the risk 
of getting a cold. It was late in September and chilly. 
We had a family laugh over the ridiculous appearance 
of Hannah's long-waisted, ill-fitting dress. It was 
novel and very amusing until a visitor's voce was heard 
at the car door. 

At the first note the blue homespun whisked under 
one of the tables. The gentleman was ushered in by 
papa and introduced, and he was so well entertained 
that he sat there during the greater part of the even- 
ing. By and by he remarked that he had had the 
pleasure of meeting one of the young ladies some time 
before But she did not seem to be present, as he re- 



OLD MASTER. 223 

membered that she had very black eyes, while those 
whom he now saw had blue eyes. 

" Where is your sister ?" papa asked at once. It was 
in vain to hint to him that she preferred not making 
her appearance, that she had been caught in the shower, 

etc. "Mr. wishes to see her," he said. "Sue must 

be the one. She has black eyes, you know. My dear, 
where are you? Mr. is inquiring for you." 

There was no getting out of it. Papa never could 
understand a hint or a wink in his life. So the head 
was thrust from under the table. 

" Ah, there she is," said papa, not seeing the ridicu- 
lous aspect of the thing. And he performed the intro- 
duction formally, as he always did such courtesies, 
ending with, " She is the one. You see her eyes are 
black." 

" Yes," said the visitor, as the two exchanged bows. 
" But there must be another. This is not the one whom 
I met." 

"Ah, you mean my daughter Emmy, then. Yes, her 
eyes are black too. She is in Virginia, on a visit to 
some of her schoolmates." 

And papa was so dignified throughout that there 
seemed no occasion to be amused. Perhaps the visitor 
concluded that as his host saw nothing peculiar in that 
under-the-table introduction, it was an every-day oc- 
currence. The dark-eyed one drew her head back 
under the table, and was not again interrupted in her 
seclusion. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

OLD MASTER. 



It was a great happiness to get back home, and to be 
welcomed by the dear Augustine Dabneys. They had 
lived at Burleigh during the year and a half that the 
family had spent as refugees. The home in Raymond 
had been rented out, and the two families spent several 



224 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

happy months together at Burleigh. We frequently 
numbered twenty -five or even more at the table during 
this time, and a gayer, merrier circle could not well be 
imagined. Flour was almost unknown in that part of 
the Confederacy, coffee and sugar were about as scarce 
as flour. We had coffee made of peanuts or potatoes, 
black tea made of blackberry-leaves, and green tea made 
of holly-leaves. We gave " war" names to all the va- 
rieties of corn-bread that appeared on the table. We 
had rebel bread, Beauregard cakes, etc. It was so 
delightful to be in the old home again, that the younger 
members of the family almost threw off the depressing 
feeling of the war for a time. Privations had almost 
ceased to be felt. We had scarcely any clothes. A 
percale apiece at fifteen dollars a yard had been bought 
as a great bargain ; three hundred and fifty dollars had 
been given for a purple calico dress for Sophy, a pair 
of coarse shoes cost forty dollars, a pound of tea twenty- 
five dollars, and it rose to fifty dollars in two days. Our 
roasts of beef in Macon cost fifty dollars apiece. The 
only bridal present bought for one of our brides during 
the war was a pair of green kid gloves, — white could 
not be bought, — they cost fifty dollars, and were both 
for the left hand ! Our shoes were made of the skins 
of oxen, roughly tanned by the plantation shoemaker, 
and manufactured into coverings for the feet by him. 
Some idea of the appearance and fit of his handiwork 
may be formed when it is known that his boast was 
that it was unnecessary for him to take measurements 
of the feet of the ladies. " I jes' have to glarnce at 
your foot, missis, an' I ken fit it." 

It may be said of these prices that they were only 
Confederate money, but it must be borne in mind that 
each Confederate dollar rej)resented to this family what 
had been a dollar in specie. The income in ConfederatON 
money was no larger than the income had been in gol^^/ 
But people tried not to think of these things, and 
laughed as they saw the amusing substitutes contrived 
out of unsuitable and incongruous material. 

The young people got up amusements in the house. 
The longest to be remembered with pride and pleasure 



OLD MASTER. 225 

was the acting of two playa — "She Stoops to Conquer" 
and "Taming the Shrew." We had fourteen actors in 
our plays. The Eaymond Dabneys had a natural taste 
for acting, and, though the cousins had less, the plays 
passed off to the satisfaction of all. Thomas Dabney 
said in his enthusiastic way that the star companies 
that he had seen in ISTew York did not entertain him 
better. 

But he could not stay at home with us. He had hired 
out some of his servants in Montgomery, and he felt it 
a duty to stay there. It was a great trial to him, at 
his age, to undertake this desolate life away from his 
family. The following letters were written at this 
period : 

TO HIS CHILDREN. 

" Exchange Hotel, Moxtgomery, Alabasia, 
" 22d October, 1864. 

" My beloved Children, — . . . You must not trouble 
yourselves about my discomforts, for they are not to be 
avoided. They are doubtless sufficient, but how many 
others have to endure more ! Just think of Sheridan's 
proceedings in the Valley of Virginia, burning every 
house, barn, mill, and everj^ stack of hay, and killing 
or driving off every negro, horse, mule, ox, cow, and 
every other animated thing, leaving the entire white 
population without shelter or food." 

TO HIS children. 

" Montgomery, 4th November, 1864. 

" My beloved Children, — ^Ij last was addressed to 
Sophy, although under the above caption. This, in ro- 
tation, will be to Emmy, but all and each will be con- 
sidered as addressed, as I have nothing to say that may 
not interest all equally. I have heard from none of 
you since Sophy's letter, but, out of sheer loneliness, 
have to write to you and imagine that I am talking 
with you. I wrote to Sarah several days ago, and have 
been inquiring at the post-office for letters, without get- 
ting any, until I begin to feel ashamed to trouble the 
clerk so much for nothing. In some respects this place 

P 



226 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

is better than Macon, but in others not so good, and 
especially to me. It is much better for the negroes, as 
they are all fed to the extent of their desires, both al 
the government establishments and by private individ- 
uals who hire them. And yet, meat is as high here as 
in Macon. I have to pay three dollars and tifty cents 
per pound for bacon, and two dollars to two dollars and 
fifty cents per pound for beef. Meal is not so high, nor 
are potatoes. For the latter I give six dollars per 
bushel, instead of twelve dollars to fifteen dollars as in 
Macon. Wood is dearer here, being fifty dollars per 
cord. The hotels here have raised their rates to thirty 
dollars a da}^, but that does not aifect me, as I am keep- 
ing house, or rather rooms, and having my own cook- 
ing done. It is a poor thing, however, and monoto- 
nous, as I have fried beefsteak for each meal, with a 
pone of corn-bread and a potato or two. When I be- 
come tired of that I will vary it to pork or mutton. 
The fish here are out of the question, nothing but buf- 
falo, catfish, and jumpers. Such as these I cannot eat, 
unless reduced to extremity, of which there is no fear. 
This place, to me, is not so good as Macon, because I 
have not as yet made the right sort of acquaintances, 
or not many of them. I find living here a Dr. Semple, 
a son of Judge Semple, of Williamsburg. ... I also 
dined the other day with Mr. Woodleaf, refugee from 
New Orleans, whom some of you may remember having 
seen at Cooper's Well. . . . They gave me a fine dinner, 
good for any time, and some extra fine music after- 
wards, according to the Italian, Spanish, and French 
books, for we had some of each sort, done up in true 
operatic fashion, I suppose. It was a leetle too foreign 
for my ear, but that was my fault, and not the fault of 
the music. 

" If I fail to get a letter from some of you within a 
day or two I shall go crazy, to use a favorite expression 
of Sarah's." 

TO HIS CHILDREN. 

" Montgomery, 5th November, 1864. 

"My beloved Children, — ... I really believe that 
I wrote to 3'ou on yesterday, and dumpsily at that, for 



OLD MASTER. 227 

I was in the dumps and feeling badly, — lonely. But 
I have recovered of that and feel very well, and not 
lonely at all, especially now that I am writing to you 
all. I feel finely, in fact, and do not expect, to fee? 
otherwise again." 

He was reproaching himself for that approach to a 
murmur ! 

The condition of the country during the war inter- 
rupted my father's life-long correspondence. His corre- 
spondence was very large for a private gentleman. His 
business letters were necessarily many, and his friendly 
letters occupied him during a part of every day. Unfor- 
tunately, scarcely any letters written by him previous to 
the war were preserved. It is especially unfortunate 
that his letters to his brother should have been destroyed. 
During nearly his whole life he wrote to him several 
times a week, at times he wrote to him every day, and 
even several times a day. He consulted Augustine on 
nearly all subjects, and wrote to him unreservedly of all 
that interested him, not only with regard to family mat- 
ters, but his views and opinions on politics and all the 
questions of the day. These letters would give the best 
life of the two brothers that could be written. 

At this time of his life he was often said to resemble 
General Lee in appearance. The Mississippi soldiers, 
coming home on furlough, often spoke of it. When 
General Lee reviewed the Eighteenth Mississippi Eegi- 
ment, many of whom went from our part of the State, 
the men threw up their hats and shouted, " Three 
cheers for Colonel Dabney!" 

In January, 1865, much to the regret of both house- 
holds, the Eaymond Dabneys left Burleigh. They 
moved to a house in the neighborhood, and almost 
daily intercourse was kept up during this year. Then 
they returned to the home in Raymond. 

From this time the intercourse between the two 
families became less frequent. The ties seemed as bind- 
ing as ever, but circumstances were changed. Many 
of the younger members of both households began to 
leave the home-nests. 



228 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

The war ended in April. The news of Lincoln's 
assassination came a short time after this, and was 
received with deep regret by Thomas. " He was the 
best friend that we had," he said, " and his death was 
the greatest calamity that could have befallen thf: 
South." 

It was no longer Thomas's duty to spend a part of 
his time in Montgomery, Alabama. He was at Bur- 
leigh when he heard of General Lee's surrender. On 
the day that the news reached him, he called his son 
Thomas to him, and they rodo together to the field 
where the negroes were at work. He informed them 
of the news that had reached him, and that they were 
now free. His advice was that they should continue to 
work the crop as they had been doing. At the end of 
the year they should receive such compensation for 
their labor as he thought just. 

From this time till January 1, 1866, no apparent 
change took place among the Burleigh negroes. Those 
who worked in the fields went out as usual, and culti- 
vated and gathered in the crops. In the house, they 
went about their customary duties. We expected them 
to go away, or to demand wages, or at least to give 
some sign that they knew they were free. But, ex- 
cept that they were very quiet and serious, and more 
obedient and kind than they had ever been known to 
be for more than a few weeks, at a time of sickness or 
other afiliction, we saw no change in them. 

At Christmas such compensation was made them for 
their services as seemed just. Afterwards fixed wages 
were offered and accepted. Thomas called them up 
now and told them that as they no longer belonged to 
him they must discontinue calling him " master." 

"Yes, marster,""yes, marster," was the answer to this. 
" They seem to bring in ' master' and say it oftener 
than they ever did," was his comment, as he related 
the occurrence to his children. This was true. The 
name seemed to grow into a term of endearment. As 
time went on, and under the changed order of things, 
negroes whom he had never known became tenants on 
his plantation; these new people called him master also. 



OLL MASTER. 229 

This was unprecedented in the South, 1 think. They 
were proud of Hving on his place, on account of the 
£^ood name that he had won for himself as a master. 
Not infrequently they were heard to express a regret 
that they had not belonged to him when they saw the 
feeling that existed between himself and his former 
slaves. Sometimes he came to us with a puzzled look 
to ask who those negroes were who had just called him 
old master and shaken hands with him. 

" I cannot recall their faces," he would say ; " surely, 
1 never owned them ?" 

Finally the negroes on the neighboring plantations, 
and wherever he went, came to call him old master. 
They seemed to take pride in thus claiming a relation- 
ship with him, as it were; and he grew accustomed to 
the voluntary homage. 

He had come home to a house denuded of nearly 
every article of furniture, and to a plantation stripped 
of the means of cultivating any but a small proportion 
of it. A few mules and one cow comprised the stock. 
We had brought a few pieces of common furniture from 
Georgia, and a very few necessary articles were bought. 
In the course of time some home-made contrivances 
and comforts relieved the desolate appearance of the 
rooms, but no attempt was ever made to refurnish the 
house. 

He owned nothing that could be turned into money 
without great sacrifice but five bales of cotton. There 
were yet two sons and two daughters to be educated. 
He decided to get a tutor for them, and to receive sev- 
eral other pupils in his house in order to make up the 
salary. The household was put on an economical foot- 
ing. The plantation negroes were hired to work in the 
fields, and things seemed to promise more prosperous 
days. So the first year was passed. 

Of this time Mammy Harriet says, " When he come 
from G-eorgia he say, ' Harriet, I cannot do as I used 
to do. You know I used to send whiskey to you all 
the time. But I cannot do that now.' 

" ' Yes, marster, I understan'. I don't expec' it.' 

" Ah, you don't know de good dat did me ! We was 
20 



230 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

down de cellar, an' he had call me to ask ef I didn't 
want a piece o' de veal dat was hangin' up dyar. An' 
he cut it for me himself." 

Here mammy's thoughts went back to the war-times, 
and she went on : 

" Dat big man Edmund come to me an' he say, ' Ole 
*oman, do you want me to box up your things ? I have 
packed up a heap o' things for de udder people.' He 
had he saw an' hammer in he hand. I said, ' No, I don't 
want anything boxed up. I am not goin' anywhere.' 
He said I was foolish, — that all de people were goin' 
because dere was a ship-load o' money at Grrand Gruif 
for 'em. I tole him dat it could stay there then. I 
would not leave. He was very mad and say, ' Tes, you 
an' ole sis Kitty are jes' alike. Yon are 'feared o' losin' 
some o' your plunder here,' I tole him to go out o' my 
door, an' he went out, an' I hab never seen him since. 
He come to a bad end after all. He was shot. 

"After marster come from Georgia, he come to me 
one day an' say, — 

" ' Harriet, what made Becky leave me ?' 

" I tole him that Becky was forced off.^ 

"He say, 'Why did Major leave me?' 

" I say, ' Marster, I will tell you de truth. You your- 
self did wrong. You leff your people. Two white 

men, Mr. and Mr. , tole us dat you leff dem 

to take us to Leaf River. We would have died before 
we would have followed dem !' Marster hadn't nebber 
tole dem ! He was 'stonished. ' Yes,' I said, ' an' dey 
went in de field an' shot guns at our people to skeer 
'em.' They wanted to force 'em to go wid 'em. 

" Dey shot at my gal Mary as she was comin' home 
to her baby at night, an' she run an' fall in a gully, 

* Becky was one of his greatest favorites. She was subject to violent 
illnesses, and at such times he bathed her head with his own hands, and 
he and his wife and children held her head and sat by her till the crisis 
was passed. Cakes that she specially fancied were made by the ladies 
themselves for her. A few days after her husband, Edmund, forced her 
off, she was dying, where many of the Hinds County negroes died, on 
the banks of the Big Black. As she lay dying, she cried out, "If I 
could only get back to my marster ! If I could only get back to mj 
marster I'* 



THE CROWN OF POVERTY. 231 

an' stayed out all night, away from her chile. An' 1 
had to hold dat chile all night an' to feed it. When 
Mary got home she could hardly walk, an' she is lame 
in dat ankle to dis day in cloudy weather. Mary tole 
me dat dese men were goin' to whip her de nex' day, 
an' she saj^, ' Mammy, dey shall not whip me. I will 
run away before dey do dat.' 

" Then G-od did something. I know that he did it. 

" Young Mars Edward heard dat pistol go off dat was 
aimed at Mary, an' he an' his body-servant, William, 
come back home. An' dey stayed in de house dat 
night. I say, 'Mary, de young marster is here. He 
will protect us. Go straight to him ; to no one else. 
Tell him all about it.' She went to him, an' de nex' 
day Mr. was sent off. G-od did it, I know. 

" I alwa^'s shall believe dat Mr. was one sent to 

' seek out.'* He was not fightin' wid our people, who 
was so kind to him."-j- 

My father had been troubled by the conflicting duties 
to his children and to his servants. 

When he heard that mammy's last good boy, Major, 
had run away to escape being killed by these men, he 
said, " Harriet, I ought to have died ten years ago." 

His faithful servant burst into tears at these words 
of her master. 



CHAPTEE XX. 

THE CROWN OF POVERTY. 

And now a great blow fell on Thomas Dabney. 
Shortly before the war he had been asked by a trusted 
friend to put his name as security on some papers for a 
good many thousand dollars. At the time he was as- 
sured that his name would only be wanted to tide over 
e, crisis of two weeks, and that he would never hear of 
the papers again. It was a trap set, and his unsuspi- 

* A Bpv -j- His entertainer? at Burleigh. 



232 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

cious nature saw no danger, and be put his name to the 
l^apers. Loving this man, and confiding in his honor 
as in a son's, he thought no more of tlie transaction. 

It was now the autumn of 1866. One night he 
walked up-stairs to the room where his children were 
sitting with a paper in his hand. " My children," he 
said, "I am a ruined man. The sheriff is down-stairs. 
He has served this writ on me. It is for a security 
debt. I do not even know how many more such papers 
have my name to them." His face was white as be 
said these words. He was sixty-eight years of age, 
with a large and helpless family on his hands, and the 
countrj^ in such a condition that young men scarcely 
knew how to make a livelihood. 

The sheriff came with more writs. Thomas roused 
himself to meet them all. He determined to pay every 
dollar. 

But to do this he must have time. The sale of everj^- 
thing that he owned would not pay all these claims. 
He put the business in the hands of his lawyer, Mr. 
John Shelton, of E-aymond, who was also his intimate 
friend. Mr. Shelton contested the claims, and this de- 
layed things till Thomas could decide on some way of 
paying the debts. 

A gentleman to whom he owed j^ersonally several 
thousand dollars courteously forbore to send in his 
claim. Thomas was determined that he should not on 
this account fail to get his money, and wrote urging 
him to bring a friendly suit, that, if the worst came, he 
should at least get his proportion. Thus urged, the 
friendly suit was brought, the man deprecating the 
proceeding, as looking like pressing a gentleman. 

And now the judgments, as he knew they would, 
went against him one by one. On the 27th of Novcm- 
der, 1866, the Burleigh plantation was put up at auction 
and sold, but the privilege of bu^'ing it in a certain 
time reserved to Thomas. At this time incendiary fires 
were common. There was not much law in the land. 
We heard of the gin houses and cotton-houses that 
were burned in all directions. One day as Thomas 
came back from a business journey the smouldering 



THE CROWN OF POVERTY. 233 

ruins of his gin-house met his eye. The building was 
itself valuable and necessary. AH the cotton that he 
owned was consumed in it. He had not a dollar. He 
had to borrow the money to buy a postage stamp, not 
only during this year, but during many years to come. 
It was a time of deepest gloom. Thomas had been 
wounded to the bottom of his affectionate heart by the 
perfidy of the man who had brought this on his house. 
In the midst of the grinding poverty that now fell in 
full force on him, he heard of the reckless extravagance 
of this man on the money that should have been used 
to meet these debts. 

Many honorable men in the South were taking the 
benefit of the bankrupt law. Thomas's relations and 
friends urged him to take the law. It was madness, 
they said, for a man of his age, in the condition the 
country was then in, to talk of settling the immense 
debts that were against him. He refused with scorn 
to listen to such proposals. But his heart was well- 
nigh broken. He called his children around him, as he 
lay in bed, not eating and scarcely sleeping. 

"My children," he said, "I shall have nothing to 
leave you but a fair name. But you may depend that 
I shall leave you that. I shall, if I live, pay every 
dollar that I owe. If I die, I leave these debts to jow 
to discharge. Do not let my name be dishonored. 
Some men would kill themselves for this. I shall not 
do that. But I shall die." 

The grief of betrayed trust was the bitterest drop 
in his cup of suffering. But he soon roused himself 
from this depression and set about arranging to raise 
the money needed to bu}^ in the plantation. It could 
only be done by giving up all the money brought in by 
the cotton crop for many j^ears. This meant rigid self- 
denial for himself and his children. He could not bear 
the thought of seeing his daughters deprived of com- 
forts. He was ready to stand unflinchingly any fate 
that might be in store for him. But his tenderest feel- 
ings were stirred for tiiem. His chivalrous nature had 
always revolted from the sight of a woman doing hard 
work. He determined to spare his daughters atl sucb 

20* 



234 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

labor as he could perform. General Sherman had said 
that he would like to bring every Southern woman to 
the wash-tub.* " He shall never bring my daughters 
to the wash-tub," Thomas Dabney said. " I will do the 
washing myself." And he did it for two years. Ho 
was in his seventieth year when he began to do it. \ 

This may give some idea of the labors, the privations, 
the hardships, of those terrible years. The most inti- 
mate friends of Thomas, nay, his own children, who 
were not in the daily life at Burleigh, have never known 
the unprecedented self-denial, carried to the extent of 
acutest bodily sufferings, which he practised during this 
time. A curtain must be drawn over this part of the 
life of my lion-hearted father! 

When he grew white and thin, and his frightened 
daughters prepared a special dish for him, he refused 
to eat the delicac}^. It would choke him, he said, to 
eat better food than they had, and he yielded only to 
their earnest solicitations. He would have died rather 
than ask for it. When the living was so coarse and so 
ill-prepared that he could scarcely eat it, he never 
failed, on rising from the table, to say earnestly and 
reverently, as he stood by his chair, " Thank the Lord 
for this much." 

During a period of eighteen months no light in sum- 
mer, and none but a fire in winter, except in some case 
of necessity, was seen in the house. He was fourteen 
years in paying these debts that fell on him in his sixty- 
ninth year. He lived but three years after the last 
dollar was paid. 

When he was seventy j^ears of age he determined to 
learn to cultivate a garden. He had never performed 
manual labor, but he now applied himself to learn to 
hoe as a means of supplying his family with vegetables. 
With the labor of those aged hands he made a garden 
that was the best ordered that we had ever seen at 
Burleigh. He made his garden, as he did everything 

* Thomas had read this in one of the papers luiblished during the 
famous march to the sea. Whether General Sherman was correctly 
reported I know not. — S. D. S. 

t His daughters did all the. menial work of the house except the 
washing. An attempt to do this resulted in serious illness, and was 
henceforth sternly forbidden by the father. 



THE CROWN OF POVERTY. 235 

that he undertook, in the most piiinstaking manner, 
neglecting nothing that could insure success. The beds 
and rows and walks in that garden were models of ex- 
actness and neatness. It was a quarter of a mile from 
the house and from water, on the top of a long, high 
hill, and three-quarters of an acre in extent. In a time 
of drought, or if he had set out anything that needed 
watering, he toiled up that long precipitous hill with 
bucket after bucket of water. " I never look at the 
clouds" had been a saying of his in cultivating his 
plantation, and he carried it out now. That garden 
supplied the daily food of his family nearly all the j^ear 
round. He planted vegetables in such quantities that it 
was impossible to consume all on the table, and he sold 
barrels of vegetables of different kinds in New Orleans. 

Oftentimes he was so exhausted when he came in to 
dinner that he could not eat for a while. He had his 
old bright way of making every one take an interest 
in his pursuits, — sympathy was as necessary and sweet 
to him as to a child, — and he showed with pride what 
he had done by his personal labor in gardening and in 
washing. He placed the clothes on the line as care- 
fully as if they were meant to hang there always, and 
they must be admired, too ! He said, and truly, that he 
had never seen snowier ones. 

Oh, thou heroic old man ! Thou hast a right to thy 
pride in those exact strokes of the hoe and in those 
superb potatoes, "the best ever seen in the New Or- 
leans market," and in those long lines of snowy dra- 
pery! But those to whom thou art showing these 
things are looking beyond them, at the man ! They 
are gazing reverently, and with scarce suppressed tears, 
■ on the hands that have been in this world for three- 
score and ten years, and are beginning to-day to sup- 
port a houseful of children ! 

At the end of the hard day's work he would say, 
sometimes, "General Sherman has not brought my 
daughters to the wash-tub. I could not stand that." 

General Sherman's words were as a cruel spur in the 
side of a noble steed that needed no spur, and waa 
already running beyond his strength. 



236 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

He urged some of his old friends to follow his exam- 
pie, and was quite disgusted at the answer of one, that 
he had no " turn" for working in a garden. " No turn !'' 
he repeated, indignantly, in speaking of it to his chil- 
dren. " I hear that he allows the ladies to do all thia 
work. I wonder what turn for it they have ! I have 
no toleration for such big Indian talk." 

His hands were much bent with age and gout. No 
glove could be drawn over them. They had been so 
soft that a bridle-rein, unless he had his gloves on, 
chafed them unpleasantly. He expressed thankfulness 
that the bent fingers and palms did not interfere with 
his holding either his hoe-handle or his pen. He wrote 
as many letters as ever, and an article for a State news- 
paper or a Virginia or New Orleans paper occasionally, 
if interested in anything that was going on. But he 
said that politics were getting to the state that only 
disgusted him, and he took no active part or interest 
even in State government till he saw a hope of throw- 
ing off "carpet-bag" rule. When he spoke of the ex- 
pense of the postage on his correspondence, he said that 
he could not maintain himself in his station if he wrote 
fewer letters. 

He tried hard to learn to plough, but he could not 
do it. It was a real disappointment. He tried to learn 
to cut wood, but complained that he could not strike 
twice in the same spot. It was with great labor that 
he got a stick cut in two. His failure in this filled him 
with a dogged determination to succeed, and he per- 
sisted in cutting wood in the most painful manner, often 
till he was exhausted. Some one told him of a hand- 
saw for sawing wood, and he was delighted and felt 
independent when he got one. He enjoyed it like a 
new toy, it was so much better in his hands than the 
axe. He sawed wood by the hour in the cold and in 
the heat. It seemed to be his rule never to stop any 
work till he was exhausted. 

His son Edward lived with him during these years. 
He tried to lessen his father's labors. But Thomas 
Dabney was not a man to sit down while his children 
worked. Besides, there was work enough for these 



THE CROWN OF POVERTY. 237 

two men, and more than enough. The arrangement 
of both house and plantation had been planned to em- 
ploy many servants, as was the custom in the South. 
Everything was at a long distance from everything 
else. As time went on, an effort was made to concen- 
trate things. But, without money, it was impossible 
to arrange the place like a Northern farm, with every 
convenience near at hand. 

One fall, in putting down the dining-room carpet, 
Thomas heard his daughter say that she meant to turn 
the carpet, because it looked new on the other side. 

" Do not turn it, then," he said. " I do not wish any 
one to suppose that I would buy a new carpet, owing 
money as I do." 

In these years he was preparing once for a business 
visit to New Orleans. His daughter asked him to buy 
a new suit, as he spoke of calling on his friends in the 
city. 

"No," he answered ; "I should be ashamed to wear 
new clothes. What hope would my creditors have of 
ever getting their money if they saw me in New Or- 
leans in new clothes ? No ; I am going in this suit that 
you say looks so shabby and faded. I shall call on all 
my creditors in this suit. I have not a dollar to take 
to them, but I shall let them see that I am not shun- 
ning them for that. I shall show myself to them, and 
tell them that I am doing my very best to pay them, 
and that they shall have every dollar if they will have 
patience. You see, my child, this is the only assurance 
I can give them that I mean to pay them. Now, could 
I expect to be believed if I were handsomely dressed ?" 

His merchants, Giquel & Jamison, were among the 
creditors whom he saw during this visit. They in- 
formed him that all their books had been burned during 
the war, and that they had no bill against him. They 
said also that they had accounts amounting to one 
hundred and fifty thousand dollars set down in those 
books, and that he was the only man who had come 
forward to pay them. He was not to be turned from 
paying his debt. 

An humble neighbor had said years ago that he hated 



238 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Colonel Dabney because he acted as if he considered 
himself a prince. In these later da3^s he admired Thomas 
as much as he had before disliked him. " I thought him 
a haughty man because he was rich ; now I see that 
he is the same man poor that he was rich. Now I 
know that he is a prince." 

One of his daughters had occasion to offer a draft of 
his to an ignorant man in a distant county of Missis- 
sippi. She felt a natural diffidence, as she was not sure 
that it would be accepted in payment of her indebted- 
ness. She asked the man if he had ever heard of 
Thomas Dabney. 

" Heard of him ?" he said. " Every letter in his name 
is pure gold. I would as soon have that draft as the 
gold in my hand." 

Seeing one of his daughters look sad and quiet, 
Thomas said to her, " My child, it seems to me that 
you look coldly on me. I cannot bear that. You are 
the very core of my heart. If I have done anything 
that you do not like, tell me." 

Oh, what heart would not bound out to the father 
who could say that to his own child ! 

And the tender, satisfied look when he was embraced 
and kissed, and the real trouble confided to his sympa- 
thizing bosom ! 

His cousins in New York, Augustine and Mary Smith, 
the children of his uncle, endeavored to help Thomas 
at this time, and sent a large check to him. This he 
promptly returned, but when their kindness was offered 
to his children ho could not wish to see it refused ; and 
the first gleam of light and hope came to the family 
when these generous kinspeople gave them substantial 
aid. 

The following letter is from one who visited Burleigh 
m^ny times, our friend. Miss Marianne P. Eggleston : 

" New Orleans. 

"My first recollection is of a figure firmlj^ knit and 

erect, with white hair and smooth-shaven chin, always 

clad in a suit of dark blue cloth, with brass buttons on 

the dress coat. Eiding back and forth twice a day over 



THE CROWN OF POVERTY. 239 

the sawdust-covered road, and both horse and rider 
thrown out in bold relief by a background of dancing 
blue water. The dress has a suspicion of the military 
about it, while the ' speech' as plainly ' bewrayeth' the 
Virginian. As a child, I was rather awed by the de- 
cided manner and tones, and the eyes flashing so 
brightly under the bushy brows. He seemed a man 
full of chivalry and action, to whom one, especially a 
woman, might turn for protection always, and for help 
in a real trouble, sooner than for s^^mpathy in a small 
one. I wonder if the tenderness of after-years was 
latent there then, or if it only came with the need for 
it ! Surely it was deep enough. 

" The old house on the lake-shore seems to come back 
before my eyes again as it was, and I stand once more 
among the people who filled it thirty-five years ago. 
Many have fallen asleep, and those whose forms are 
still with us are as utterly changed to our eyes as if the 
grave had closed over those we then knew. There were 
but vague impressions of character made then ; they 
are mostly recollections of form and color, and prom- 
inent among these is the dear old red silk handkerchief. 

"Later on come recollections of Burleigh, and much 
better defined impressions of its master. How well I 
remember the day I saw it for the first time ! 

"After dinner we walked (or stood) in that little 
garden of pinks you had in the front yard, near the 
' big gate.' There your father joined us, and standing 
outside, leaning on the low fence, he told us of an arti- 
cle he had read on the ' Genius of Shakespeare.' The 
author regarded the ' Tempest' as Shakespeare's greatest 
work, and Caliban as his most perfect creation of fancy. 
' I cannot agree with him about the " Tempest," ' he said, 
' but he may be right about Caliban.' As we returned 
to the house, we all stopped under the mimosa-tree, 
where a table was placed, and 3^our father presided over 
an immense waiter of cantaloupes. I remember how he 
])ut back his cuff's and flourished his knife. I so often 
recall the Burleigh of those daj'S, — the ready and appa- 
rently boundless hospitality, the abundant supply of 
all the necessaries of life (and much of what we call 



240 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PnA VTER. 

the luxuries now), the fruit in summer, the roaring 
fires and the 'hog-killings' in winter, and those deli- 
cious sweet potatoes ! 

"I remember how often we danced in the hall in 
summer, but I have no recollection of any music. We 
must have needed some. Your father was always ready 
to take his place with us, and I can see him now as he 
walked around the card-table, looking into the hand of 
each one, drawing his red silk handkerchief through 
his fingers as a bad play was made, regarding it as a 
serious business, and being by far too honorable to 
' tell.' He never seemed to think we were doing it 
for fun, and enjoyed a bad play as much as a good 
one.* 

" The first time I saw the white beard was on the 
day of the memorable barbecue at Terry. I recall so 
well your father's appearance that day, as he took his 
place on the stand among the Democrats. His bearing 
was a compromise between the respect he felt for ' these 
gentlemen' individually, and a protest against that vile 
thing known as Democracy. The red silk handkerchief 
was often brought into requisition that day, like a Whig 
banner flaunted in the face of Democracy, — as if to say, 
' We two old Whigs are as stanch and true as ever, 
although we allow you Democrats to approach us to- 
day on terms of familiarity. We make no concession, 
nor do we propose to make any.' 

"You remember the introductions we had to pass 
through ? A group of us (myself included) would be 
presented as ' my daughters ;' then, out would spring 
the old ' bandanna,' and after a clearing of his throat, 
he would give a little sketch of each, as we were 

* " I should not have said that everybody laughed, for my grandfather 
did not even smile. . . . He vras totally absorbed in contemplation of the 
enormity of playing out one's ace of trumps second in hand. And that 
Charley, — Charley, whom he had trained from a boy to the rigor of the 
game according to Hoyle, — that he should seem to defend such — so — so 
horrible a solecism ! It was too much. He was a picture to look at, as 
he stood erect, the nostrils of his patrician nose dilated with a noble in- 
dignation, his snowy hair contrasting with his dark and glowing eyes, 
that swept from group to group of mirthful faces, and back again, sternly 
wandering at their untimely merriment." — Bon Miff, page 239. 



THE CROWN OF POVERTY. 241 

brought to the front in rotation. It was as good as a 
tooth-drawing ! 

" I can recall so many movements and gestures, — that 
way he had of throwing his leg out, — I often try to do 
that, but have never succeeded to my satisfaction. I 
think it must be some ' Old-Line Whig' sign, and no 
one but one of them can achieve it. 

" This is the bright side of the picture, and I turn with 
reluctance to the other, the one which looks like a dark 
one, but is far more beautiful than the former, and is 
bright with an inner radiance which is not seen in the 
earlier time. 

"M}' first visit to Burleigh after the war seemed like 
an evil dream. The old nursery, where the long line 
of ' knitters' were ranged on rainy days, is a kitchen 
now with all the necessary appointments; the well- 
furnished apartments look almost bare now ; not a ser- 
vant appears about the premises. I find the same warm 
greeting, but the hands extended to welcome me are no 
longer the soft ones of a gentleman. Instead of them I 
seem to grasp the toil-hardened ones of a laboring man, 
and such they are. The man born and bred in all the 
comfort of a Virginia home, in manhood saying to his 
servant 'do this, and he doeth it,' has in advancing years 
found himself bereft of the faithful wife who for so many 
years shared his life, and deprived of nearly all his pos- 
sessions. How does he bear himself now? The time 
formerly devoted to the care of his estate, to the exer- 
cise of hospitality, to enjoyment, is now given to man- 
ual labor. A few faithful servants still linger around 
the old home and cling to ' ole marster;' but times are 
changed with them too, and they must toil for their daily 
bread, formerly dealt out to them without stint from 
' ole marster's' table. So I see that dear ' ole marster' 
cutting with his own hands the wood for the fires, toil- 
ing with it up the long flight of stairs, making fires, doing 
the family washing, and after a hard day's work, seeing 
you make the starch over the dining-room fire he said, 
so regretfully, ' I wish I could make the starch too.' I 
recall how he insisted on washing my clothes also, and 
how I let him believe he was doing it. 

L 9 21 



242 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

*' Not a word of complaint was heard, no matter ho\^ 
coarse the fare was ; if he could eat it, he did so. I 
remember once he handed his cup for tea the second 
time, sajing to me as I passed it, 'With some people 
it is an evidence that the tea is good when they take a 
second cup, but with me it is the reverse. I must have 
a certain quantity of tea, no matter how much water 
I drink to get it.' Late one cold evening we heard a 
tramping of many feet as we sat around the dining- 
room fire. Soon the door to the kitchen opened wide, 
and your father ushered in as many as five forlorn- 
lookino; females in thin calico dresses and long sun- 
bonnets, some with babies in their arms. I can see 
him now, seating them as if they had been the great- 
est ladies in the land, and telling them to stay there 
until the fires were made in the cabins he had given 
them permission to occupy for the night. I suspect 
each one had a beating from her husband that night 
because she did not make a fire for him. 

"When the old place was deserted, and your father 
came down here for the winter, I took the same train 
at Brookhaven. He was quite sick all day and seemed 
pleased to have me near him. I saw him frequently 
during the winter at Tom's and at Emmy's rooms ; 
and no matter where I was, he never thought it too 
much trouble to find me. It is very gratifying that 
one you love and revere should feel confidence in your 
affection and value it. So, I am confident, he felt to- 
wards me. When I went to bid him good-by 1 found 
him out and waited for him. I can see now the smile 
on his face when he came in. He insisted on seeing 
me down-stairs, but I succeeded in effecting a compro- 
mise, and we parted at the landing. He said good-by 
and kissed me as if he thought it was for the lust time, 
then took my hand again and said, earnestly, ' God 
bless you.' I love to remember that when his voice 
fell on my ear for the last time, it was to call down a 
blessing on my head." 

In the changed circumstances of the family it was 
impossible to attend the services at the Raj-mond 



THE CnnWN OF POVERTY. 243 

church. The deprivation of a parish ehurcti was 
much felt, and it was resolved by Emmy Dabney to 
try to build a church nearer to Burleigh. She begged 
her father to allow her to go out as a governess that 
she might use the money made in this way to build a 
simple wooden church. He gave a reluctant consent, 
as he disliked to see women work. The year's sal- 
ary was insufficient for the purpose, and very littk 
was contributed in the neighborhood. There was but 
one communicant outside of the Burleigh house, — the 
country people who cared for religion belonged to other 
religious bodies. All the sisters and a family of cousins 
went to work with their needles to make up the de- 
ficiency in funds. Although thej^ made a great deal in 
this way the desired end seemed a long way off, and 
they set to work to make appeals to the church people 
of the North, asking for one dollar from each one. 
A generous response came at once ; money came by 
dollars and hundreds of dollars. In a short time, in- 
stead of the one thousand dollars that was asked for, 
about five thousand had been received. The letters that 
came were as much prized as the mone}^. Of the many 
hundreds received but one was unkind in its tone, and 
a few months later the writer of that letter sent a large 
sum of money, accompanied by words of Christian 
sympathy. Our father had never felt other than 
kindly towards the N'orth. His long residence in New 
York as a child, and his broad sympathies with them 
as a part of the nation, had made him, as already stated, 
a stanch Union man as long as there seemed to bo 
any hope of keeping the Union unbroken. He enjoyed 
these overflowing Christian letters with his children 
Warm friendships were formed with some of the writers^ 
and were among the most lasting and prized of our 
lives. The large amount of money received enabled 
us not only to complete the little church, but to pur- 
chase a glebe and rectory. The work connected with 
this church and Sunday-school became a part of the 
life at Burloiirh. 



244 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

THE CROWNING BLESSING. 

The crowning blessing of our lives came in t-iese 
days of poverty and toil. The beloved head of the 
house took his baptismal vows on himself, and became 
a regular communicant in the church. His daughters 
had come to him one night as he sat on the porch, 
talking with Edward, and had urged him to be confirmed. 
They told him that they were unworthy of the name 
^f Christians, and felt especially in approaching him 
now unworthy they were. But the Saviour's com- 
mand was explicit. He called the sinners and not the 
righteous. He ought to obey that loving call and not 
wait to feel worthy. The day would never come when 
he would feel so. '' Oh, papa, how can one go to heaven 
who does not obey Him? Even earthly parents re- 
quire obedience. And what would heaven be without 
you ! Oh, let us all try to go there together!" 

With tears and kisses and every endearing epithet, 
and with arms around his neck, they hung about him. 
He was completely overcome. He seemed scaiccly 
able to control his voice as he said, " My children, j^ou 
are right. I see the justice of what you say. I will 
be confirmed when the bishop comes. But you came 
near killing j^our father. I thought that you had killed 
me. My heart stopped beating when you said all those 
sweet things to me. I do not deserve all those good 
things that you believe of me." 

His son Thomas knelt by his side and was con- 
firmed with him in St. Mark's Church, Raymond, when 
the bishop came. Bishop G-reer was a child of the 
same year as our father, and but four months younger 
than himself. As he placed his hands on the venerable 
head bent before him, and bent his own snowy one 
over it, he was visibly affected, and many tears fell in 
the church. It was said that there was not a dry eya 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 241} 

that night that looked upon that scene. The class 
that went up for confirmation was larger than had 
been expected. It was said that when Thomas Dab- 
ney walked up the aisle several persons who before had 
been undecided now rose and went forward as candi- 
dates for confirmation. 

" I don't believe in all the people who call themselv^c^ 
Christians," a plain neighbor said, in talking of this 
step of Thomas, " but I believe in Colonel Dabney't 
Christianity, -ffe is no hypocrite." 

Awhile after this he began to ask a blessing at his 
own table, and gradually he grew into asking a bless- 
ing at the tables of his friends, unless a clergyman 
was present. But he never led the family prayers. " I 
want you to do that," he said to a daughter. Among 
the letters that he valued I find one received about 
this time from a young girl, one of his servants whom 
he had placed in Montgomery. 

" Montgomery, February 10, 1867. 

" My dear Old Master, — I am anxious to see you 
and my young masters and mistresses. I often think 
of you, and remember with pleasure how kind 3^ou all 
ever were to me. Though freedom has been given to 
the colored race, I often sigh for the good old days of 
slave-times, when we were all so happy and contented. 
... I am tolerably pleasantly situated. I am hired to 
a Mr. Sanderson, who treats me very well. I am very 
well, and hope I may have an opportunity of coming 
to see you all next Christmas. I am still single and 
don't think much about beaux. I don't think the men 
in these days of freedom are of much account. If I 
could find one whom I think a real good man, and whi 
would take good care of me, I would get married. 
Please, dear old master, ask some of my young mis- 
tresses to write to me. 

" My kind and respectful remembrances to all. 
" Your former servant and friend, 

" Alice Dabney.'* 

This letter was written with Alice's own hand. 
21* 



246 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

His former servants showed affectionate attentions to 
him, and they were deeply appreciated. George Page 
sent all his best fruits and vegetables to his master's 
table, especially those that were rare and difficult to 
cultivate. "When G-eorge's girl brought over a bucket 
of strawberries one year, the daughter who received 
them asked casually if she had been enjoying the 
strawberries that spring. 

"No, marm, I ain't tase one," the child answered. 
" Daddy say dat we sharn't tase one 'twell ole marster 
hab de fust dish, an' dese is de fust." 

Sometimes a fat gobbler, the finest of the flock, 
would be sent over for the master's Christmas dinner 
by Mammy Harriet. George's wife or children, who 
were sent with his offerings, had strict orders from 
him, which they did not dare disobey, to receive noth- 
ing in return. " Law, missis," his wife would say, " I 
'feared to take anything back. George would run me 
out in de woods. Yes, marm, to be sho' I want de 
things, but I darsen't take 'em." 

Finally we hit upon the plan of sending an express- 
messenger to George's house with such things as we 
had to bestow. He was by no means pleased at this 
turn of affairs, but saw no way of evading it. Ho 
had to be ccTnsoled with the assurance that our presents 
were for Susan, and not for him. 

When George himself brought his gifts, he would 
try to drop them in the kitchen without being seen, 
and when discovered, his manner was as deprecatory 
as though he were serving an Eastern despot. As a 
slave his bearing was independent. He often thought 
his opinions worth more than any one's whom he knew, 
and he constantly gave advice to his owners, not being 
discouraged by their neither asking nor adopting it. 
But, from the day that he saw them reduced to poverty, 
he strove to throw into his carriage all the deference 
that could be expressed in one human body. As soon 
as his bag of melons, peaches, and roasting ears was 
found, he would be seized with regret at having brought 
them. 

" Don't look at dem things." he would cry, snatch- 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 247 

ing the bag, that we might not see the contents. " 1 
dunno what I bring 'em for. Dey ain't fitten' for 
marster an' my j^oung ladies. Here, lemme throw 'em 
'way. Dey ain't fitten' for nothin'. I know you got 
plenty of them." 

He always brought things that he knew we did not 
have, but this feigned belief that his master was as 
well off as ever was soothing to George's pride. 

In proportion as he reverenced his master he felt 
himself superior to the white people of the plainer 
sort. This was in right of his having been brought 
up by " one o' de big bloods," as George and others of 
this aristocracy-loving race expressed it. 

One day papa sent a note by George to one of the 
neighbors. The man could not read it, and said some- 
thing about the handwriting being hard to read. 
George's ire was fired by this implied imputation on 
his master's penmanship. 

"My marster's handwritin' hard, sir?" he asked. 
" My marster has de educationey, sir. It is you who do 
not know how to read, sir." 

It is needless to say that George became unpopular 
with those who could not see bej^ond the surface, and 
recognize the proud, loyal heart under this bluster. 
In these days of poverty our Caleb Osbaldistone felt 
himself called on to maintain the family honor and 
dignity. He delighted in relating to strangers, who 
had not visited Burleigh in former years, marvellous 
stories of the champagne that he used to have from 
the dinner-table every day, throwing in such other 
adjuncts as seemed to him in keeping with this style 
from that inexhaustible storehouse, his fancy. 

One Christmas, one of the white family sent a little 
money to George and his wife. " What de debble do 
I want vvid money?" he cried, as he threw it on a 
shelf away from him. 

Susan kissed hers and shed tears over it. 

They had been free for twenty years, and after their 
crop was sold but twenty cents had come to them. 

Thomas exercised a protecting care over the negro 
tenants, his own old servants and others, long after 



248 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

they were free. It seemed instinctive with him. One 
dark night one of the tenants came over and begged 
him to go to the quarters to drive off some men, who 
were, he said, frightening the negroes. As our father 
was upwards of seventy years of age, and as we were 
not sure that in these lawless times personal harm was 
not meant to him in this affair, we entreated him not 
to go. The quarters were from a quarter- to a half- 
mile off, and half the way was up a precipitous hill. 
But he seemed scarcely to hear our remonstrances, 
and went in all haste to find out what was the matter. 
Everything was quiet when he got there, and he re- 
ceived no connected account of the disturbance. 

In the spring of 1868 Thomas had the great pleasure 
of a visit from Dr. Thomas Cooke, who had been his 
ward in early Gloucester days. Dr. Cooke's eldest son, 
Thomas Dabney Cooke, had spent a year at Burleigh 
in boyhood, and his father had long intended to bring 
some of his daughters to see his old friend. But time 
had slipped away, and still he had never felt that he 
could afford the journey. This spring he resolved to 
delay no longer. He was afraid, he said, that he might 
die without having brought his family to see the dear- 
est friend of his life, and he came with three of his 
daughters. This visit was made at a time of the 
greatest poverty in the Burleigh house. A beautiful 
little incident that took place will show the courtly 
polish of this gentleman. One of Thomas's daughters 
was about to go to the wood-pile to get some chips for 
the fire. Dr. Cooke offered her his arm, and the two 
proceeded and collected the chips together in the basket, 
and came back in the same formal style. He felt in- 
tuitively that the j^oung lady would not allow a vener- 
able guest to go alone to perform this office, and his 
fine breeding showed him this way out of the difiiculty. 

In the fall of 1869 Thomas met with a serious pecu- 
niary loss. A negro riot took place in the height of 
the cotton-picking season, and among other unhappy 
consequences the negroes abandoned the fields until 
the cotton had been spoiled by the wind and rain. 
Nearly the whole crop was lost. The seat of tho 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 249 

trouble was eighteen miles from Burleigh, but it was 
chosen by the negroes as their rendezvous. We knew 
nothing of the trouble. But the white men of the 
neighborhood heard that they were preparing for a 
fight, and about fifty of them marched to the planta 
tion to meet the negroes. Wild rumors were afloat, 
among others, that not a " white face" was to be spared. 
Our first intimation of the riot was to hear about one 
hundred rifles go off in the park, followed by loud cries 
and yells and battle orders. And presently a riderless 
horse or two, one shot through the body and dying, 
rushed past the gate. This was all. After that one 
volley the negroes fled. The carpet-bagger who had 
urged them to this riot had gotten to a place of safety 
before the fight came off*. Four negroes were killed 
and two white men wounded. About fifty negroes had 
been in the engagement. 

Our cook clung to me as I went in the kitchen. 
"Oh, they have killed Eobert! Oh, he say all de time 
dat he warn't goin' to hurt his white people ! He say 
all de time dat he b'long to you." 

The negro men on the plantation disappeared, as haa 
been said, and did not come back for weeks. The 
women came to the house ; the hall was quite full of 
them, and we could not persuade them to go home all 
that day. Mammy Maria got under the chair on which 
one of " her white children" sat, and embraces and 
pattings on the back and all the affectionate words 
that could be thought of were needed to get her up 
from the floor, where she was crying bitterly. All 
this had taken place just as we were about to go in to 
breakfast, on a lovely morning in October. In a short 
time a body of one hundred and fifty men from Crj^stal 
Springs rode up. They had ridden from there, a dis- 
tance of sixteen miles, under whip and spur, and were 
so covered with dust as to be almost unrecognizable. 

Our cook had gone to her dying husband, and these 
men had had no breakfast. Thomas opened the store- 
room to them ; several of the more experienced were 
soon engaged in cooking for the company. For a 
week the country was in a state of apprehension, and 



250 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

patrols were out and guards set day and night. The 
younger men were needed for patrol service, and only 
our father and a delicate young visitor were left to 
guard the Burleigh house. Papa called us all up, and 
asked if we were willing to shoot if there were need. 
He found but one coward among his daughters, the 
writer of these memorials. The others were willing to 
]-eceive the pistols and guns which he handed them. 
There were not enough for all. Sarah kept a pot of 
water boiling as her means of defence. But the 
negroes were scattered in every direction and not 
thinking of another outbreak. 

Papa went to see Robert, and was disarmed by the 
poor fellow's sufferings and affectionate greeting. He 
assured " marster" that he had not meant to hurt him 
or his family. He only wanted to kill the "poor white 
trash" who insulted his race. " I had to be true to my 
color, marster." His old master gave him such comfort 
as he could, telling his wife how to allay his sufferings, 
and promising protection. He died in a few days. 
Robert's wife related an incident that took place on 
the preceding night, at the di-ill, before the battle. A 
negro from a distance proposed that the work of de- 
struction should begin by burning the Burleigh house. 
Two brothers, old family servants, stejiped from the 
ranks and said that would have to be done over their 
dead bodies, if at all. 

On the night before the fight a strange negro had 
begged to be allowed to stay all night, and offered to 
work Leila's flowers if she would let him stay. He 
seemed nervous and miserable, and Edward, to whom 
8i)e had appealed for advice, felt sorry for the man and 
gave the desired consent. When the Crystal Sprirgs 
troops arrived, the}^ informed the family that the chief 
agitator among the negroes had been harbored by them. 
He was running from a riot that he had gottc^n up 
under the direction of the carpet-baggers, and in which 
the negroes had been worsted, of course, when he took 
refuge with us. He wished to be found among us when 
the impending fight in the park should take place. The 
Crystal Springs men were for making an example of 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 251 

him. But Edward and Lelia, to whom the poor mis- 
guided fellow clung, saw that he was quite conquered. 
They interceded for him and he was not molested. 
We were thankful when that wretched week was over. 
In November we had a visit from the saintly Bishop 
Wilmer, of Louisiana. When he went away several 
of the ladies of the house accompanied him a part of 
the way in the carriage. One of them, in the hurry 
of getting off, had left her handkerchief behind, and 
Aunt Abby, who discovered it, ran out to the carriage 
and handed it in. Bishop Wilmer held his hand out to 
her and said, "Let me shake hands with you, mammy. 
I want to shake hands with a faithful servant." Then, 
as he held the small, withered black hand in his, he 
went on : " You thought that you were not doing much 
when you ran out with that handkerchief. You were 
doing more than jou thought. You were doing a 
faithful part by your young mistress. There shaTl a 
day come to you in which your ears shall hear a voice 
saying, ' Well done, thou good and faithful servant. 
Thou hast been faithful over a few things. I will make 
thee lord over many.' " 

As he spoke the last words, he had the manner of 
one of God's prophets delivering a message. Every 
one in the carriage was weeping. His rare and bound- 
less sj^mpathy had enabled him to read her character. 
Some one asked him what had moved him to say such 
words to a stranger. He replied that he had seen 
what she was as soon as he looked at her. She spoke 
of him after that as the "good gentleman." Those 
who knew Bishop Wilmer and his incomparable powers 
of conversation, will not be surprised to hear that we 
were laughing or crying, or doing both together, all the 
way during that drive of two and a half miles. 

Seeing us draw on our gloves, he said, " Girls, I 
ought to have brought gloves to each of you. There 
were three reasons why I did not. In the first place, 
I did not know the numbers that you wore; in the 
second, I had no money ; and, in the third, I did not 
think of it." 

Thomas had beer patient and forbearing with his 



252 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

servants when he owned them, but he had small pa- 
tience for the shiftless, lazy ways of the negro racu 
after they were set free. Yery few of his own remained 
on the plantation. Many had gone off when he was 
absent with his family in Mobile and Macon, and a 
large number had been left in Montgomery when the 
war ended. Tenants were brought in from other plan- 
tations, but they were more fond of barbecues and big 
meetings and hunting and fishing than of keeping the 
grass out of the fields. It became so onerous to Thomas 
to look after plantation afi'airs conducted in such a 
manner, that he decided to turn over the management 
to his son Edward. 

He longed to visit a tide-water country, and it was 
arranged that he should spend a part of nearly every 
summer at Pass Christian with his kind friends down 
there. He was now too old to hunt. Some of the 
following letters show his keen enjoyment of fishing. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Pass Christian, 4th August, 1870. 

. . . "Mr. enacted a droll scene, or one that would 

have been droll had it not been so discreditable. He 
was very drunk, but he managed to get into his little 
wagon and started for home. Meeting two ladies on 
the way to whom he wished to pay distinguished at- 
tention, he uncovered with the ' grand flourish,' and 
bowed so profoundly that he bowed himself clean out 
of the wagon, head down, and had it not been for the 
promj)t seizure of the horse by the head by one of the 
ladies, whilst the other was engaged in disentangling 

and disengaging Mr. 's legs from the reins, Mr. 

would probably have been gathered to his fathers ! 

" I do not allow plantation atfairs to obtrude them- 
selves upon my thoughts. This I intend as a period of 
rest, mentally as well as physically. I expect to hear 
from Tom to-morrow, and hope to hear that Sophy and 
Fify and Lelia reached home on the 28th, as expected. 

" This is no very good place to write letters at, as 1 
cannot very well do it in the morning, on account of 
fishing and getting back from fishing, and then bathing, 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 253 

and then dressing, and then dining, and then people 
are coming to see me, and then I am going to see 
people, and then — and then — I feel lazy and very com 
fortable !" 



T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Pass Christian, 7th August, 1870. 
..." I will move to Mr. Harrison's to-morrow, for 
the purpose of waging regular war on the trout nation- 
alit}". ... It may be a difficult thing to determine 
which is the most delightful, the catching or the eat- 
ing. For myself, greatly as I enjoy the eating, I would 
forego that, and take the middling and greens, rather 
than to have my rod and line taken from me. I have 
actuall}' been so nervous as to fancy, after going to bed, 
that I had a large trout on my line, and would give my 
arm a twitch in order to hook him irood !" 



T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 
" Mr. J. P. Harrison's, Pass Christian, August 12, 1870. 
..." Mr. Harrison's horse being very lame to-day, 
I lose my fishing, which is a sore disappointment, but 
I ought to be thankful that nothing has kept me from 
the bayou until to-day. I have fished eleven days, 
starting at about half an hour after sunrise and return- 
ing about eleven o'clock. In these eleven days I have 
caught one hundred and thirty-eight of these splendid 
trout, one sheepshead, besides various brim, goggle-eyes, 
perch, etc., which are never counted here. I hope to 
resume operations to-morrow, as Mr. John Harrison 
intends hiring a horse for the campaign, if possible, and 
he thinks he knows where he can get him. On the 
whole, I am satisfied with my performance, as I put 
the best of them up to all they know to keep tall}' with 
me. When I am beaten (which is seldom, and a very 
small beat at that) the cause is obviouslj^ some disad- 
vantages that I had to encounter. With a fair show, 
there is not a disciple of old Izaak that can allow me 
an inch of margin." 

22 



254 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 



T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Burleigh, 11th September, 1870. 

"My beloved Daughter, — I have not for seventy- 
two years, eight months, and seven days perpetrated 
so stupid an action as when I sent your trunk to New 
Orleans, by express, instead of to Baton Eouge. It 
never occurred to me that the express could take a 
package on any other than a straight line ; and I never 
knew better until Ida asked me, on yesterday, how I 
had directed the trunk. I was near not replying, but 
did reply, with some impatience, ' To New Orleans, 
care of office, etc., etc., of course!' But she took me 
from my high horse with a jerk by asking me if your 
costly clothes would not be ruined by the rotting peara 
in consequence of the delay of the trunk, which would 
have been avoided had it gone right along by express. 
Now, I want to hear from you, and I don't; but, as I 
must hear, sooner or later, I hope somebody will report 
on the damage, as soon as it is ascertained. It was a 
stupid thing to put pears in that trunk; but I thought 
myself smart in my manner of putting them up. You 
found that each pear was wrapped up separately in 
strong brown paper (except two, that could not be 
gotten in with the wrappings), packed without press- 
ure in a pasteboard box, and the box duly secured at 
the ver}' bottom of the trunk. All this was done with 
a proud consciousness that it had been 'done up brown.' 
Brown ? Yqyj brown ! your fine silks reeking with 
rotten pear-juice. But 1 don't know how the thing 
stands, as the people at the New Orleans office may 
have sent the trunk right ahead on Saturday. But 
I fear they did not, and actually believe the chances 
against their having done so. 

"Now, the fiict is, I thought of nothing hardly but 
that I had not only some fine pears, but also an oppor- 
tunity to send you some. Had I not sent them I know 
they would choke me if I attempted to eat them. I 
always feel choky when eating good things beyond the 
reach of my children. But I must master ihis feeling, 
as it imjiairs the judgment sometimes, — as m the pres* 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 255 

ent case, most deplorably. But — bah ! This does no 
good ; so let me hear from you. This pear-silk-dress- 
bottom-of-the-trunk-express business is quite too inter- 
esting to admit of the introduction of any other topic 
in this missive, and so I will conclude." 

T. S. D. TO AUGUSTINE DABNEY. 

" Burleigh, 19th October, 1871. 
" I reached the Pass on the night of Monday. I got 
there in a storm, and when I awoke on Tuesday morn- 
ing the equinox was upon us. The wind howled and 
the rain came down — just as it can when it chooses — 
through that day and most of the night. On Wednes- 
day morning it was not raining, but there had been no 
abatement of the wind. It came from the east, piling 
the water up in Lake Ponchartrain at such a rate that 
on Wednesday morning it was found surrounding the 
Clay statue in 'New Orleans. But I had two enthusias- 
tic friends at the Pass, who, like myself, had gone there 
to fish, and would not be balked. They called for me in 
their carriage, and I jumped in, as a matter of course, 
being but a boy myself, as you know. As we knew 
the woods were flooded and the bayous out of their 
banks, the only chance was the railroad bridge over 
the bay of St. Louis ; and so we struck out for that, 
but, on our arrival at the bridge, neither of my friends 
would venture on it, for fear of being blown off. We 
should then have gone home, but did not. We went 
to one of the bayous, and found it exactly as we 
expected. We threw in, though (having plenty of 
shrimp), but ' nary' bite had we. We determined to 
try it lower down, where the bayou was wider, and 
could hold more water. But that cost me a walk 
through a marsh of a mile, the grass from waist- to 
shoulder-high, and very stubborn and thick, and the 
water shoe-deep every step, except when I trod in a 
hole, and then I did not measure it. Meanwhile I had 
a three-gallon bucket of water to carry (with my 
shrimp) in one hand, and my angle in the other. 
* Nary' fish again I I have a faint recollection of 
getting out of that marsh, and of drinking some ex- 
cellent brandy in commemoration of the auspicious 



256 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

event ; and I remember, too, that I went to bed (feick^^ 
the next day, but I have no recollection of wetting a 
line since. The fishing was wonderfully fine after- 
wards, but I was unable to go, although I remained a 
week, being too unwell to undertake the journey, and 
I have ventured to my garden but twice since my 
return, and was doubtful about getting back to the 
house the last time I went." 

T. S. 1). TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, December 14, 1873. 
..." We are having a hard road to weed just now, 
but, with a stout heart and honest intentions, we will 
wade through." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Burleigh, 17tli December, 1873. 

..." The almost cheerful tone of your letter of the 
day before yesterday gives me more pleasure than 1 
can well describe. I understand the thing now en- 
tirely. It was hope deferred. ' Hope deferred maketh 
the heart sick.' Yes, sick unto death very often. . . . 

"The reality now stares us in the face, and I am 
happy to learn from you that your husband will meet 
it like a man. This I never doubted, however, and I 
am not at all surprised at his tardiness in taking hold. 
It is a tight thing to take a subordinate position on a 
road where he had ruled for a long time as head of the 
scientific department; but it is manly and honorable to 
take it, and, if this be strictly true, as I think it is, it 
would not be manly or honorable to decline it. So, 
cheer up, you and your glorious husband, and utilize 
such opportunities as offer, without fear of compro- 
mising yourselves by doing so. There is but one po- 
sition on the railroad that I would have objected to his 
taking, and that is brakeman on a freight-train ; not 
on account of the humbleness of it, but on account of 
the danger." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Crystal Springs, 7th February, 1874. 

"My dear, DEAR Child, — I cannot defer until I get 
home writing to you to ask your forgiveness for having 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 257 

hurt your feelings, as I know I did. Forgive me, m\ 
good child, for I was so much excited as to be inoapable 
of acting right." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

''Burleigh, 1st May, 1874. 

"My last letter to you has miscarried. As I gave 
you particular instructions how to plant cotton, I will 
repeat ; and, as you will want every seed to come up 
and to do its best, my object will be to show you how 
to do that. I once planted forty seed with this object 
in view, and I had every one to come up finely, but one 
was cut down by a worm the first day. Thirtj^-nine 
lived to do their best. The seed from those thirty-nine 
1 planted again as at first, and the third j^ear I had 
three hundred acres in cotton from those thirty-nine 
plants. 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON THOMAS. 

"Burleigh, 17tla May, 1874. 
... "Last Wednesday the bishop, assisted by Mr 
Douglas and Heber Crane, ordained a Mr. Jackson a 
negro as black as any on this land, a deacon in the 
church. The ceremony was very interesting, and 
Jackson preached in the afternoon to as enlightened an 
audience as ever goes to our church. His sermon was 
admirable and admirably delivered. I have heard but 
few who read so well, and fewer who had so good a 
manner. He is a well-educated man, having a con- 
siderable knowledge of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. 
He has been living in one of the rectory houses for two 
years, is a hard student under Mr. Douglas, and is 
without reproach. My family has had him by tho 
hand during the whole time, and now every one of 
our respectable people show him kindness. I will send 
you the paper containing the proceedings." 

During a period of thirty years Thomas had the 
pleasure of an annual or semi-annual visit from the 
venerable Bishop Green, of Mississippi, as he went on 
his round of visitations. He was a close friend of 
Thomas Dabney's, and was beloved in that house, as 
he was in every one in his diocese. After these aged 
r 22* 



258 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

friends had attaii ed fourscore years they fell into a 
way of exchanging birthday letters. On Bishop 
Green's departure, after his last visit to Burleigh, 
Thomas accompanied him as far as Dry Grove, two 
and a half miles, where he bade him good-by and re- 
turned home on foot, the bishop proceeding in the car- 
riage. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 8th July, 1875. 

..." You must not take so much note of my look- 
ing sad, my dear child, as it is contrary to my philoso- 
phy to cultivate unhappiness. That I cannot always 
be merry, or even cheerful, should be expected ; as there 
are shades as well as sunshine with all humanity, as I 
suppose. But God has been wonderfully kind to me 
in giving me such children. . . . And now let me say, 
my love, that you give way too much to despondency. 
Bestrain yourself in giving expression to sad thoughts, 
unhappy thoughts, and they will become mollified after 
a time for want of aliment to feed on. The indulgence 
in gloomy thoughts, not to say gloomy expressions, 
can be made instruments of selt-torture like any other 
vice, for I class such a disposition, or the giving way 
to it, among the vices. God gave you three children 
and has taken one away. The other two He has 
spared to you so far, but, if displeased, He may take the 
others. Look at your husband and your father. Is 
it nothing to have such a husband and such a father? 
Does not their affectionate appreciation of you (it is in 
this sense that I am introduced) count for nothing ? 
If for anything, think of them, and the countless bless- 
ings by which you are surrounded, and then humble 
yourself, my lonely child, and seek forgiveness for your 
forgetfulness. 

" Ijelia has a juvenile party to-day, consisting of the 
shavers of both sexes from the rectory, — twelve in all, 
— and they are making noise enough. But I am out 
of the melee, having resigned my room to Sophj^, tak- 
ing roost right over her. It does me good to see Sophy 
f^.harging about, helping on the housekeeping in all 



THE CROWNING BLESSING. 259 

manner of ways and fattening apace. Her recovery 
may be set down among the marvels. God bless you, 
my dear child." 



CHAPTEK XXII. 

LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON-IN-LAW B. H. GREENE. 

"Burleigh, 29tli Augustj 1875. 

. . . "We are having lively times in the political way. 
I have seen nothing like it since 1840, — those days of 
'hard cider/ 'log cabins,' "coon skins,' and what-not, 
by means of which the Whigs gave Van Buren and the 
Democrats so signal an overthrow. I believe the im- 
pulse under which the outraged white race of the South 
are now being urged on will be equallj^ irresistible. 
At a mass-meeting held in Eaj'mond on the 18th in- 
stant, falling in with T. J. Wharton, I remarked to him 
that such an uprising was wonderful! 'Uprising?' 
replied he. 'It is no uprising. It is an insurrection !' 
To give you some notion of the enthusiasm of the 
people, I only have to say that they do not straggle 
in to such meetings, but go in clubs, each club with its 
band of music, flags, and regalia, and a cannon in many 
instances, and these cannon they make roar from every 
hill-top on the road. The procession of cavalry from 
Edwards Depot (some other clubs having joined the 
Edwards Club) reached from the court-house far be- 
3'ond John Shelton's house, — the length of the column 
being two miles, as one of the number told me. That 
from Utica, taking in my club and one other, was a great 
deal longer. The thing to be appreciated had to be 
seen. The ' carpet-baggers' and negroes are evidently 
staggered. We have been carrjing on this thing for 
a month without their having moved a peg. The}^ do 
not know where to begin. I suppose something will 
be hat^ \ed up in Washington after a while, and the cue 



260 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERi^ PLANTER. 

be given to the faithful, and then ' we shall see what 
we shall see.' 

" Among the anomalies of the canvass upon which we 
have just entered, not the least significant is that we 
have not a single candidate in the field who, for him- 
self, sought oflfice; whereas every 'carpet-bagger' and a 
large percentage of the negroes are clamorous for some 
place or other. All of our candidates have been brought 
out by nominating conventions; many of these against 
their wish, — for these conventions pick out our best 
men. For example, we are running John Shelton for 
supervisor, A. E. Johnston for the State senate, Daniel 
Williams for magistrate at Dry Grove, etc. None of 
these desire the positions proposed for them, but it 
would be considered in very bad taste in either to 
refuse. 

" The upshot of the whole is that I am kept on the 
' pad,' — being president of the Dry Grove Club, that has 
to march, or be marched to, at every whip-stitch. We 
held two club meetings last week, and I have ordered 
one for this week. Next week, on the 11th of Septem- 
ber, we go in a body to Edwards Depot, where prepa- 
rations will be made for ten thousand people. I sup- 
pose Jackson will respond, as I know other places will, 
and so many barbecues will be given by the clubs, to 
each of which the others must march in a body, and in 
military order, that I will esteem myself lucky if I get 
through alive. But I expect to be lucky to that extent, 
as my whole soul is in it." 

It was early in 1875 that the citizens of Mississippi, 
believing that it was unmanly and stupid to submit 
longer without protest against ruinous misrule of " car- 
pet-baggers," backed by negro voters, determined to 
lay aside all minor interests and make an organized 
effort to throw off the incubus which was rapidly in- 
volving the whole State in financial bankruptcy and 
social degradation and miser3\ Hence the formation 
of Democratic clubs. 

From 1865 to 1875, — ten long, weary years, — tenfold 
harder to endure than the four years immediately pre- 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 261 

ceding 1865, the State had been under military rule, 
our last governor from Washington being Adelbert 
Ames (a man honest and brave, but narrow and puri- 
tanical), who seems to have hated the Aryan race of 
the South. In proof of this I merely cite the fact 
that he was impeached by the State Legislature for 
fomenting race strife, but, by advice of counsel, he 
wisely or unwisely evaded the issue of trial, and fled 
away to his own. 

During the years 1870-74 the taxes, imposed by aliens 
and the misguided African element, in many cases ex- 
ceeded the incomes derived from the plantations; and 
it was then that men, nerved with a courage born of 
despair, cast about them for suitable leaders (men of 
unquestioned integrity, cool judgment, and dauntless 
resolution) under whose guidance relief might be at- 
tempted. Intuitive!}^ all eyes were turned to Thomas 
Dabney, and he was chosen president of the Democratic 
club of his neighborhood.* 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON THOMAS. 

" Burleigh, 15th October, 1875. 
..." I will have my house as full as it can hold to- 
morrow night, as Utica, Raymond, Clinton, Boltons, 
Edwards, etc., will send their clubs here in force. You 
will perceive that a great many will have come long 
distances. I must take as many as I can accommodate 
reasonably, having already invited a number. It will 
put your sisters to much trouble, but as it is unavoida- 
ble, they undertake it with great cheerfulness." 

The daughters worked by day and night on the 
uniforms for Thomas and his friends. Some of the ne- 
groes joined the club, and uniforms must be made for 
them too, and it was the patriotic thing for the ladies 
in the house to make these also. Besides, an immense 
United States flag was called for by the club, and was 
made by us in those hot July days and nights. 

Thomas was as ready to extend the simple hospitality 

* Written jr Edward. 



262 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

of his house in helping on this movement as he had 
been in former times to render more extensive aid. His 
life-long friend, Mr. Jonn Shelton, in writing of this 
side of his character, says, — 

"We were both Henry Clay men while he lived, 
and Whigs of the straitest and strictest type. ... A 
most zealous Whig before the civil war, the leaders 
and candidates of that party were often the recipients 
of his unbounded and princely hospitality, and, as a 
zealous party man, he took a great interest in whatever 
elections were pending, and shared his means with an 
unsparing and free hand for the advancement of party 
ends." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Burleigh, 20th October, 1875. 
..." We are in a very hot political contest just 
now, and with a good prospect of turning out the car- 
pet-bag thieves by whom we have been robbed for the 
past six to ten years. They commenced at Clinton on 
their old game of getting up riots and then calling on 
Grant for troops to suppress them, — these troops to be 
used afterwards to control elections. They succeeded 
in getting up their riot, which was put down by our 
own people after so sanguinary a fashion as to strike 
them with a terror not easil}' described." 



T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Burleigh, 24th November, 1875. 
... "I am in a laughing humor to-day, as I have 

just sent E to pay my taxes, and I had to fork over 

only three hundred and seventy-five dollars for that 
pui'pose, — a very different affair from the operations of 
many years back. Last year it took over eight hun- 
dred dollars, and the year before more than that." 

In 1873 the taxes on the plantation (Burleigh) 
amounted to over nine hundred dollars, and the income 
was less than eight hundred dollars. This state of 
affairs was the result of carpet-bag rule, — a rule more 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 263 

harassing, humiliating, and destructive than people 
beyond our borders can conceive. 

In one of these j^ears a lawsuit vp'as brought against 
Thomas about one of his line fences. He had kept up 
his own fences dividing his plantation from his neigh- 
bors,* not sharing the expense and labor with them, as 
was the custom in the country. The negroes were 
summoned by his counsel as witnesses. They must 
have talked the case over with indignation among 
themselves, for their testimony given, one after another, 
sounded in the court-room as if they had been trained 
for the occasion. They used the same words : " Course 

I know all 'bout it. 'Twas when Mr. M was de 

oberseer. Hi ! I help to split dem i^ails. Dey's marster's 
rails. Didn't brer Gilbert lay de worm o' dat fence ? 
All marster people know dat. Dey all 'members dat 
dey split and tote dem rails, and brer Gilbert lay de 
worm." 

A good many, fifty perhaps, had been summoned, 
but after five or six had said these words, Thomas's 
counsel decided at once that the case would probably 
go against him if the w^hole band should be allowed tt^ 
go through with this formula, and, greatly to the dis- 
appointment of the negroes, no more w^ere allowed to 
give their evidence. Their pride in their old owner 
had risen to its height, and their indignation against 
the neighbor was proportionally great. The case lasted 
for three days, and, during this time, one of the daugh- 
ters was alone at Burleigh. The negroes show^ed much 
sympathy for her. Every evening about dusk Mammy 
Maria's husband came to the steps where she was sit- 
ting. He was a shy man, and had scarcely ever before 
spoken a dozen words to her. He appeared with his 
hat in his hand and the graceful bows and salutes of 
the negro race. 

" Good-evenin', missis. 'Eia," marm, say dat I must 
tell you 'bout m}^ garden. She 'bleeged to go home to 
'tend to things now. She say dat I ken tell you how 
my garden was gittin' on. I plant potatoes, marm, 

* With one exception, which was in the case of a connection. 



!i64 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

an' I wucked 'em. Oh, yes, I'se wiicked 'em. An* 
peas an' greens, marm, an' I wucked 'em. An' I git 
sprouts to eat out o' mj garden, marm. I wucked 'em 
all, marm. 'Eia say dat I mus'u't let you be lonely. 
She tole me to tell 3^ou 'bout dem things. An' she say 
dat you mus'n't feel no ways oneasy 'bout dat law busi- 
ness. She say dat some o' de people is come down from 
Raymond and dey say dat she must tell you 'bout how 
things is goin' on, an' dat eberything is goin' for mars- 
ter. An' you ought to hear how he people talk up for 
him. Hi ! dem lawyers stop Ellis 'cus he talk up so. 
Dey sent some o' de people back an' wouldn't let 'em 
talk. But dey was all ready to say de same thing 'bout 
dat fence. Dey was ready to stan' up for marster, but 
dey wasn't 'llowed to do it." 

"John say he couldn't talk to you," mammy ex- 
plained afterwards. "But I tole him to tell you all 
'bout he garden ; I know he could talk 'bout dat." 

Great was the rejoicing on the plantation when the 
case was decided for the master, and he and his wit- 
nesses came home together. A good many came to the 
house to say how glad they were that he had gained 
the case, and to explain how much they had done in 
bringing about the result. 

When Thomas Dabney's fortunes were at their low- 
est ebb he heard that a widow living a few miles from 
him was in need of the necessaries of life. The case 
was represented to him very strongly that she and her 
children were in danger of starvation. He turned 
visibly white, and said afterwards that he thought his 
heart had stopped beating for a moment when he heard 
of such a thing so near him. He hurried out and sent 
a wagon-load of corn and a supply of meat to her, and 
he went himself and put ten dollars in her hand. " My 
daughter is also a woman" were the words with which 
he accompanied the money. " She knows that you 
may need money to buy some little things as well as 
food." He was so poor at the time that the lack of 
the corn and meat would be seriously felt in his own 
larder, and it is doubtful if anything were left in his 
pocket after he gave awty the ten dollars. It seems 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 265 

almost needless to say that his daughter, knowing the 
family at Burleigh was Irving almost without the use 
of money, did not suggest to him to give that. But 
what woman could have devisid a more compassionate 
and gracious way of bestowing a gift ? 

A i^oor woman in Mississippi has said of him, " The 
time that my son fell in the well and he was there, — 
oh ! I could have hugged him in my arms. My son 
told me that the first thing that he saw was that white 
head bending over him." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 21st February, 1876. 
"The mail of to-day brought me your sweet and 
truly dutiful letter of the 16th instant. You only 
want my ' orders,' my dear child, to obey them. God 
forbid that I should ever give ' orders' to one who is 
ever ready to anticipate my wishes by the time that I 
know them myself I had to write that letter to you, 

painful as it was to me. All that j^ou say of I 

already knew but too well ; but the knowledge came 
too late to be of any benefit to us, and it can now do 
no good to grieve over it. What we now have to do 
is to look the thing in the face as it stands, and I will 
tell Coker that he may look to me for that one hun- 
dred dollars next winter. I cannot pay it any sooner, 
as I find, after my last pound of cotton has been sold, 
that I have thirty-three dollars and some cents left." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 14th July, 1876. 

..." When I fish in the bayous back of the Pass 
(which I generally do, in preference to fishing in the 
gulf), I start at sunrise and get back at half-past 
twelve to one o'clock, and the distance, eight miles, is 
nearly the same as from Alexandria to Trout Creek. 
With a buggy and a good horse I never thought any- 
thing of the distance ; and, besides, I always wanted 
the family with whom I stayed to enjoy the fruit of 
my rod. I have caught thirty-two trout (we never 
counted the perch, goggle-eyes, etc.) in the three hours 
M 23 



266 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

that we had for fishing. But that is the larsjest num- 
ber that 1 ever caught in any one day. We always 
caught more than the family wanted, however; and 
Mrs. Harrison and Mrs. Smith were in the habit of 
supplying their neighbors with many a fine dish, fol 
two to three of us would bring in a goodly pile of 
them." 

He was at this time planning a trip to Pass Christian. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 3d May, 1877. 

" My beloved Child, — I wrote to your brother last 
Sunday, but without mentioning your children. When 
such a letter comes from me, it may be considered as 
clean a ' bill of health' as can possibly be written. 
But I would have noticed them had I not expected Ida 
to stick in something. In all letters from me to any 
member of my family, if anything is the matter with 
another member, T always write the worst, not exag- 
gerated, not extenuated, but precisel}^ as the thing 
stands, leaning, if leaning at all, to the bad, but avoid- 
ing all leaning, if that be possible. But you know all 
this, and yet I find you as wretched as you can make 
yourself over imaginary sufferings of Emmeline. The 
child has not grunted once since my telegram to you, 
nor for four days previously to the date of that telegram. 
There is no need of studj^ing what she likes or dislikes, 
whether sweet milk or sour, bread or crackers, for she 
eats right and left four to five times during the day. 
The day before yesterday (1st May) the rectory chil- 
dren were all here, a Maj^-party having been gotten 
up for them. They had various 'goodies' spread on 
a large table in the yard, the entertainment coming off 
late in the evening. After the children had satisfied 
themselves the grown folks partook. No long time 
afterwards, the company having left and Sue very 
tired, she said to Emmeline, 'Well, come along now 
and vve will go to bed.' Whereupon Emmeline, with 
all the naivete imagirable, inquired if they were not 
going to have supper 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 267 

"So make yourself easy. I will never leave any- 
thing to your imagination about these dear little fel- 
lows; so, 'go 'long' and get yourself well as soon as 
you please." 

T. S. D. TO MRS. H. CAMPBELL SMITH. 

"Burleigh, 6th July, 1877. 

"My much beloved Niece, — You can't know how 
much pleasure your eminently characteristic letter of 
the 20th ultimo gave me — gave all of us. It is so like 
you to remember a promise that I did not make, but 
which you chose to believe I did make because you 
wished to have it so. I was too fearful of being un- 
able to visit you this summer to promise such a thing, 
and yet could not give expression to that doubt ; and 
hence you were left to draw your own inference, and 
you only know one way of solving such problems as 
these. I now know that it is impossible for me to en- 
joy the hospitality of Cam and yourself this summer, 
as we are expecting my brother's family, — the whole 
tribe, consisting of himself and wife, Nanny, Mary 
Ware and her son Toby, and perhaps Martha, to spend 
the month of August with us. They are all together 
on Honey Island (except Martha), but they know 
that they can't stay there through the summer, and 
80 they propose to divide about three months be- 
tween Aggy, Colonel Porter, and myself. So you see, 
my dear, tijat I am nailed hard and fast right here for 
this summer, at least. But I don't relinquish the hope 
of seeing the inside of your new home some time or 
other, and will do it as soon as I can, for I wish to see 
you all very much. As you say nothing about gnats 
in your letter to me, I hope those vile pests left you 
quickly after your letter was written to Mrs. Douglas. 
They are a great deal worse than mosquitoes, I think, 
as they light on you in clouds — in 3'our eyes, nose, and 

ears, — are not to be frightened off, bite like , and 

pass right through ordinary mosquito-bars. I fear 
your region is subject to them at certain seasons of the 
year. 

"I don't know whether to congratulate Cam on his 



268 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

elegant leisure or not. If he had much professional 
employment, you would probably have to burn the 
lamp o' nights. 

" If your neighbors wish to see your old uncle, he is 
indebted to the kind words of his niece for that wish. 
But what is the use of having friends if they fail to 
show it on proper occasions! 

" I am glad that you have some garden. I have had 
a scuffle to have even that, as it rained eternally dur- 
ing the spring, and then dropped off to no rain at all, 
and we are having the hottest summer I ever witnessed 
in Mississippi. I have to take the garden in broken 
doses, homoeopathic at that, as I came near a sunstroke, 
or something worse, the other day, frightening the 
girls nearly out of their wits. 

"Lelia, poor child, is very far from being well. I 
was in hopes of getting her off to the North, but could 
not make it out, and so she has gone to her kind friends 
in Brandon for a change of air and scene. If she is 
not improved by it, I must send her to New York when 
her brother returns to that place after his summer 
vacation terminates. Emmy has been in New York 
three to four months, but is ex])ected to arrive at Terry 
to-morrow night. Her children have been with us 
during her absence, but she will have no fault to find 
when she sees them, as they are as hearty a trio as 
ever discussed bread and butter and sich. 

" Charlie and Kate are as loving as ever, I believe, 
which is saying a good deal for this hot weather. The 
girls send any amount of love to you and Cam and 
the children. My love all round." 

T. S. D. TO MRS. H. CAMPBELL SMITH. 

"Burleigh, 19th December, 1877. 

" My poor afflicted Child, — I received, yesterday, 
a letter from Dr. Baird, giving the particulars of the 
dreadful calamity that has befallen you. I was wait- 
ing for that, or for something of the kind from some 
member of your family, being more than willing to 
postpone so mournful and difficult a task as writing 
a letter to jou that could be satisfactory to me or ic 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 269 

any waj' a comfort to you. To lose one's husband or 
wife I take to be the greatest calamity that can befall 
any one who may be happily married, and that jom 
had that comfort in Cam I have every reason to be 
absolutely certain of. But, my dear child, it is among 
the inevitable laws of nature that these unions must 
be broken up at some time or other, and one or the 
other be left to mourn. It is therefore seemly that we 
should be grateful for such measure of happiness as 
we have been permitted to enjoy, and to bow our 
heads reverently and without a rebellious spirit when 
the All Wise sees fit to checker our path. I trust you 
may succeed, after a time, in schooling your mind to 
this necessity. 

"Dr. Baird's letter to me shows him to be a very 
sincere friend of yours. He discusses your situation 
with a great deal of feeling, and exhorts me to go to 
see you, if possible, and, if not possible, to send some 
one on whose friendship you may be supposed to rely. 

. . For mj'self, you ma}" remember that I returned 
from the Pass a month or two ago (or were told that 
I did) so entirely indisposed as to make it doubtful 
whether or no I should ever get over it. I am unable 
now to undergo any extra exertion, and get to my 
garden with some difficulty, but force myself to go, as 
better than continuous inactivity. I never even go to 
Dry Grove if it can be avoided. It was therefore im- 
possible for me to accede to Dr. Baird's suggestion by 
going to your house." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 6th January, 1878. 
" God bless my child and her children and her hus- 
band ! And you thought of me in connection with 
the 4th, and your husband thought of me in connec- 
tion with Christmas and oj^sters, and you forgot to 
write to me about it! But all is well that ends well, 
as you say ; and I now know more about oysters than 
1 ever did. I thought they must he lost, but I told 
Edward to bring them out unless they would knock a 
buzzard over. There were but two spoiled ones. Th^^ 
23* 



270 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

mouths of a good many were a little open, but, as 1 
had to open all of them, I found they were not spoiled, 
and in they all went to the dish. I even ate some of 
them raw. I took them all out of the barrel on Tues- 
day morning, placed them on the ground in the north 
cellar, with the deep shell down, sprinkled them with 
salt and meal, and then with just enough water to 
make the salt run a little. They were a little too 
fresh at first, but on the second d&y after their removal 
from the barrel they were as salt as could be desired, 
and perfectly delicious. I could have kept them — 
well, I don't know how long, — a week, perhaps ; per- 
haps a month. They improved every day (I mean 
those with their shells closed), the last being the best. 
You need never mind the temperature hereafter; and, 
as J^ew Orleans oysters are generallj" too fresh, you 
can, in one day, season them to your taste and make 
them equal to York River oysters, — perhaps ! . . . 

" Letters from Yirginius and Ben remind me of the 
4th. Good boys! Neither did Tom fail. Good boy, 
too ! These things, and such thoughts as they suggest, 
make me happy. . . . 

"Thos. S. Dabney." 

Several of Augustine's children had moved to Cali- 
fornia, and in January, 1878, he and Mrs. Augustine 
Dabney went there to make their home among their 
children. It was the first separation of the brothers. 

T. S. D. TO AUGUSTINE DABNEY. 

"Burleigh, 20th January, 1878. 
"Although you have been throwing oif suggestions 
from time to time of the likelihood of your going to 
California, I was still taken by surprise when 1 read 
your card of the 12th, informing me that you were 
|)acking up and expecting to be off in two hours. I 
hope Mary stood the trip reasonably. Unless some 
accident befell, I have no good reason for hoping that 

you and sister E had a good time, as you both like 

travelling, she especiall3\ No amount of ' hoping' 
would do any good under such circumstances; as of 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 271 

all modes of getting about, the only intolerable mode to 
me is by rail. There is no walking about on a railroad 
car; the only change possible is to change from one 
seat to another, — from an erect to a recumbent or a 
prostrate position, \yhen on one of these luxurious 
vehicles I am reminded within an hour or twc of the 
man of leisure who would escape, if he knew how, from 
the ' rack of a too easy chair.' I suppose to be 
stretched on a hot gridiron, or on a bed of fleas, with 
my hands tied would be worse, and that is about the 
best I can say for such luxuries as palace cars. And 
yet I take them, of course, when I have to go, but on 
the principle that a nauseous dose of physic cuts short 
disease. I think Mary extremely fortunate in having 
made her escape from cotton-planting ; as, indeed, from 
every interest now known to this side of the Sierra 
Nevada. From my stand-point I can discover nothing 
but an early crash and a universal bankruptcy. Corn 
is selling in Kansas at fifteen cents per bushel, and is 
worth but little more at Bonham. Texas, where Ben 
lives. Molasses can now be had in JSTew Orleans at 
six dollars per barrel and sugar at six cents per pound. 
Edward sold cotton at Terry a few days ago at six and 
a half cents. It was inferior cotton, but a large portion 
of my crop is no better, as we had four overflows of 
the creek in three weeks, when much of the crop was 
open, and necessarily was washed out, and what re- 
mained was badly damaged. Ten to eleven cents in 
New Orleans is now about the price of what little tol- 
erably good cotton we have, tinder such figures the 
whole country must sink, except the few who are free 
of debt, and this class goes about as far towards making 
this Southern country as one swallow does towards 
making a summer. Tom has taken the alarm promptly 
by entering the medical college as a student, but with- 
out giving up his school, attending lectures and the 
dissecting-room out of school hours. It will be too 
much for him, I feel certain, although he is very strong. 
But I will watch him closely, you may judge. His 
school hours are from nine a.m. to three p.m. Lectures 
from half-past three p.m. to five p.m., and dissecting from 



272 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

seven to eleven and twelve at night. You will perceive 
that he has but thirty minutes to pass from his school 
to the lecture-room, and but one hour and a half for 
dinner, recreation, and travelling, from nine in the 
morning till eleven or twelve at night. ]No man can 
stand this, I think; or, if at all, but for a short time. 
But Tom is a fellow of pluck and will stand as much 
of it as any man. I will keep a sharp eye on him, 
however. 

" We had a very humdrum Christmas, — none but my 
own family, and many of them away, as you know. I 
had a fine beef for the occasion, but had to let him en- 
joy a reprieve, as the weather was quite too warm to 
kill him at that time. But we are enjoying him now, 
and each day as I look upon a part of him smoking on 
the table I think of ante-bellum times, in a small way." 

T. S. D. TO AUGUSTINE DABNEY. 

" Burleigh, 3d March, 1878. 

"Yours of the 1st February reached me 'on time,' 
as I suppose, and went through the family, interesting 
each one of us very much, as it abounds in incidents 
of travel and California affairs. One incident, however, 
was far from agreeable, but when a man tumbles down 
a strange and dark staircase, he may congratulate him- 
self upon finding no bones broken. I hope your hand 
has recovered. I did not intend deferring this reply so 
long, and did not know that it was so long until I re- 
ferred to the date just now. I truly hope that Mary 
finds the climate agreeable to her, and I hope that Toby 
is doing as well as Mary can desire. As to yourself 
and sister E , I have no apprehension but that every- 
thing in that great country will suit you both perfectly, 
and prolong your lives. . . . You will be seventj^-eight 
to-morrow, dating this reminds me of it. ... I was 
interrupted and lost the mail, and have read over your 
letter again, with renewed interest. It is very full, and 
strictly conforms to the description of Mark Twain, in 
his last book, ' Eoughing It,' which I have just read ; 
which is remarkable, as you were rushing along by 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 273 

rail, whereas he took it by stage, horseback, and foot- 
back. The Desert and the sage bushes, the sharp air 
and snow of the Sierra and the sudden transition tc 
perpetual spring on reaching the Yalley of Sacramento. 
All this is more like enchantment than like anything 
to be looked for in real life. . . . 

" Although I have, for the past ten or fifteen years, 
only given myself three to five years of furlough at a 
time, I yet live, and with a breathing apparatus and 
casing as perfect as ever, to all appearance ; but yet the 
vigilant old fellow 'Time' has not slept, but has in- 
creased day by da}^ my repugnance to locomotion, 
making it more agreeable to me to read or talk in an 
arm-chair than to trundle a wheelbarrow up a steep 
hill ; and it requires so much engineering to pull on my 
socks, that Sue comes into my room every morning be- 
fore i am up and shoves them on for me. Some one 
has to tie my shoes; not that it is impossible to me, but 
vastly disagreeable. Now, although I have not men- 
tioned either of old Dodson's (or Dobson's) infirmities 
in the Table, you will recognize this as a kindred 
picture. ... 

" The people here, with few exceptions, are becoming 
poorer and poorer, and without the least prospect of 
amendment, as the prime cause is to be found in the 
worth lessness of the negro. As I am now physically 
unable to take charge (active) of the plantation, I am 
utterly at a loss as to what is best to be done. If I 
could sell this place, the problem would be solved, but 
nothing can be sold here now." . . . 

Thomas's own words will best show how he felt 
the loss of his brother, that occurred in April of this 
year. 

T. S. D. TO MRS. AUGUSTINE DABNEY. 

" Burleigh, 28tli April, 1878. 

"My dear Sister, — A note from Marye, received 
this morning, informs me that I have lost my only 
brother. If there was a rule in such cases he would 
have been the survivor, but there is no rule that I 



274 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

know of. I have no consolation to offer beyond the 
expression of my sincere sympathy, — an oblation that 
I need nearly as much as you do. It will doubtless 
occur to you, without your being reminded of it, that 
you have been wonderfully passed by the hand of fate 
during the whole course of your married life, amount- 
ing to about forty-five years, I think. "When you 
think of the few, the very few, who have carried their 
cup of happiness over the rough paths of life for such 
a time with so little loss, you may be surprised into 
self-gratulation rather than be weighed down by this 
calamity, great as I feel it to be on you and on myself. 
You are wonderfully blessed in your children. Do 
you know any one with whom you would exchange, 
maternal ties being severed, and you free to choose ? 
Take me from the list, and do you know another? 
Verily, no! It becomes you, then, to accept this vis- 
itation of Providence without a murmur, or the ap- 
pearance of one. Mourn we must, and may, and be 
forgiven. 

" For myself, I feel like some hoary obelisk, with a 
circle of desolation steadily widening, but few, if any, 
of the contemporaries of my early manhood surviving. 
Not one remains, I think. . . . 

"You have no plans at present, I suppose. Should 
you elect, at any future time, to return to this State, 
you will remember that my door, equally with that 
of your children, will be open to you." . . . 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 13th August, 1878. 
" That you and Ida are quite able to take care of 
yourselves I entertain no doubt, but still it does me 
good to find you asserting the fact with so much bold- 
ness. Of all the principles developed by the late war, 
I think the capability of our Southern women to take 
care of themselves by no means the least important. 
With ten to twelve years of nominal peace, however, 
the necessity for exemplif3ing that principle might be 
supposed to be at an end ; but so long as such men as 
Governor have it in their power to control and 



LIFE AT BVRLEIQH. 275 

set at defiance the decrees of the judiciary, just so long 
you will have to take care of yourselves, and lucky to 
be able to do it. The responsiljility that he is assunriing 
is fearful; and to make it as bad as possible, there was 
no necessity for it, no matter what his opinions might 
be, for a governor has no right to an opinion on a law 
after it has been acted upon by the Supreme Co art. 
He still has the jpower^ as an engineer has to blow up 
his passengers, but he does not blow them up for all 
that, except by accident. I suppose the bread of two 
thousand people has been denied them by the folly or 
wickedness of this one wrong-headed marf^" 

After the death of Augustine several of his children 
made arrangements to come to Burleigh with their fam- 
ilies to board during the summer months. This was 
not only a source of material aid to their uncle, but it 
brought back the old delightful intercourse between the 
two families. This had been interrupted, as well by 
other unavoidable circumstances of life as by Thomas's 
poverty. Four happy summers were spent in this 
manner at Burleigh. But the latter part of the first 
summer (1878) was a sad time all over the South. The 
yellow fever was raging in many of the cities and 
towns. Late in August a suspicious sickness appeared 
at Dry G-rove. As this little village was situated in a 
healthful part of the country, and as there was a theory 
that the fever could not reach it, the people felt no 
alarm. The following letters were written by Thomas 
at this period. 

T. S. D. TO HUGH STEWART, ESQ. 

"Burleigh, 31st August, 1878. 

*'Dear Sir, — In view of the pestilence that has 
broken out at Dry Grove, I wish you to bring your 
wife and ]^ellie here immediately. You have not a 
moment to lose. . . . 

" My carriage will be moving the rectory family this 
morning, and when it completes that job will bring 
yours. 

"Don't hesitate, as the loss of a day may cost you 



276 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

your life. I will tell you how you can manage the 
post-office. 

" Most truly your friend, 

" Thomas S. Dabney." 



T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER E3IMY. 

"Burleigh, 7th September, 1878. 
"Mrs. Governor Brown's servant-girl, Eliza, as you 
will remember, went to Canton a j'ear or so ago. She 
returned to her old home about two weeks ago, and 
died of yelfow fever or some kindred disease in the 
course of four to six days. Four days after her death 
the governor was taken ill. Three or four days after 
that Edward went to Terry, and, hearing of the gov- 
ernor's illness, went directly to see him. He found him 
very ill, and announced to Mrs. Brown his intention to 
remain with him. But she positively refused to allow 
this, and he came home and told us of it, and added 
that he would immediately return. This Mrs. Brown 
probably expected, but would not allow him to wait on 
the governor without first obtaining my sanction. She 
raised no objection to his remaining after his return. 
He was to have written to us by every mail, but five 
days passed without a line from him or from any one 
there. Mr. Douglas then went to see after them, and 
found Edward with the highest fever on and the red- 
dest face he had ever seen. . . . We had a terrible scare 
about the Dry Grove people a week ago. It seems that 
two of the men there, in order to deepen the pond on 
which the little mill at Dry Grove depends for water, 
cut the dam and drew off the little water that was in 
it, and then turned in to drag out the mud. The stench 
was described by Dr. West as terrific. In three days 
half of the inhabitants were flat on their backs, some 
of them ill. Nearly all of Mr. Douglas's family were 
sick. In this exigency I wrote to Mrs. Douglas (Mr. 
Douglas having left home that morning, but to return 
in the evening) to lose no time about it, but to send 
one of the Castons immediately for my carriage and 
to bring her whole flock here. I said they could 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 277 

take possession of the two rooms in the library build- 
ing, where they might keep house according to their 
own taste; for they would have to bring their own 
bedding, cooking utensils, and provisions, and do reg- 
ular ' camping out' except for the tents. Mr. Doug- 
las returned home in time to bring Mrs. Douglas and 
provisions, etc., that afternoon. Miss Carrie and the 
children having preceded them in my carriage. All 
of the children, or nearly all, were pouring down qui- 
nine at three to four hours' intervals, and Miss Carrie 
had to be taken up bodily and placed in the carriage, 
and two of the children got up from sick-beds. The 
change in their condition is remarkable. They all ap- 
peared to be as well as possible on the morning after 
their arrival here, and Miss Carrie appears to be as 
well as I ever saw her. I have suggested to Mr. Douglas 
that all hands had best remain here through September 
and get a good stock of health, as the}^ are not in my 
way in the least. I think they will stay, although he 
made no reply. I also invited Hugh Stewart to bring 
(I to send for them) his wife and Nelly, as we would 
squeeze them in somewhere, but they declined, feeling, 
as w^e suppose, too poor to leave their property — fowls, 
etc. — to be stolen in their absence. You cannot ima- 
gine how grateful they are. Nelly stayed here the 
night before last and thanked me in tears. . . . I, neg- 
lected saying in its proper place that Mr. Douglas left 
here yesterday morning with instructions from me to 
telegraph to Tom to come immediately to the assist- 
ance of his brother and the governor, if, after seeing 
them and consulting Edward and Mrs. Brown, that 
step should be deemed necessary. The first thing I 
wished to know from Mr. Douglas last night was, had 
he telegraphed for Tom, and I never heard the word 
no with so much delight." 

A part of the following letter also bears on this time : 
" If I undertake to say much of my dear and hon- 
ored uncle, it will necessarily be a repetition of what 
others can say much more ably than I, so I will en 
deavor to confine myself to a few lines. 

24 



278 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

" I knew him well only after he grew old. His old 
age, like t^e sunset, was more beautiful, if less useful, 
than the mid-day. Age softened without weakening 
his character. I was much struck, in reading one of 
the last letters he wrote, with this expression, ' We 
must have sympathy even with the imaginary troubles 
of others.' This was hardly in accordance with my 
previous knowledge of him. Of a healthy nature, with 
strong self-control, he thought (and rightly) that peo- 
ple should control their imaginations; that there was 
enough real trouble in the world without any indul- 
gence in morbidness. But, without relaxing his hold 
over himself, he grew more tender towards the weak- 
nesses of others. He was the most thoroughly natural 
man I ever knew, without one particle of affectation. 
Of course he often refrained from uttering his senti- 
ments or opinions, for fear of giving pain ; but never, 
in his whole life, I imagine, did he say anything he did 
not entirely feel with the motive of pleasing. Of 
whom beside can we say the same? Praise from him 
might be justly valued, since he sounded his mind and 
weighed his words before speaking. He was not irri 
table or prone to take offence, because he took but little 
heed of trivialities, yet his was no easy-going amiability 
that includes all men and all ways in its indolent charity. 
Meanness, cruelty, and lies were so utterly abhorrent 
to him that he needs must speak and feel strongly 
against their perpetrators. 

" Not all the heavenly host sing eternal praises. His 
guardian spirit must have been Michael, the strong, 
the terrible, warning all powers of evil ! That light- 
ning glance, those words so weighty in truth, so keen 
in insight, have made many an evil-doer quail before 
him. 

" To see my uncle, in his old age, performing the 
homely duties of the farm with the same care and ex- 
actness he formerly bestowed on matters of great mo- 
ment ; to see him doing the honors of his plain board 
with the same courtly dignity as when it groaned in 
luxury; to see him turn to books with the same judg- 
ment and interest he formerly bestowed on men, was 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 279 

a lesson never to be : ^rgotten. Circumstances might 
change, the man did not ; loss of wealth, political 
weight, youth, even wife and children, left him un- 
shaken. In that healthy mind and strong soul wounds 
healed, leaving scars, it is true, but no sores. 

" We were there during the dreadful plague of 78, 
and I was struck almost with awe by my uncle's won- 
derful foresight as to the fever coming to so apparently 
an unlikely spot, his wise advice and generous offers of 
aid to others, which, if acted on, would have saved 
many valuable lives and prevented his own family 
from being exposed to infection. His sagacity was 
almost superhuman; but what shall I call the feeling 
which prompted him to send his beloved daughters 
from their place of safety to nurse the very people 
who had rejected his aid while it was yet time, and 
even to bring the plague-stricken sufferers into his own 
home? 

" I. feel how poorly I have expressed in these lines 
the love and admiration I felt for my dear uncle. I 
pray that his qualities may flow in every drop of his 
blood forever ; so shall he live and not die, even on this 
earth I 

"Letitia Dabnet Miller." 

The yellow fever broke out in all its virulence at Dry 
Grove in a week from the date of Thomas's invitatior. 
to his neighbors to take refuge at Burleigh. Of the 
first twenty-nine cases, twenty-eight died. There were 
not enough well people to nurse the sick. Thomas re- 
fused to allow his daughters to go to see their sick 
neighbors merely to call, but when they signified their 
willingness to nurse them, he took them to Dry Grove 
himself. He threw the doors of Burleigh open, and it 
was made headquarters for the Howard Society. There 
he entertained the Spanish physician sent by the How- 
ards from New Orleans, as well as the trained yellow- 
fever nurses whom he brought with him. All the rooms 
in the house, not excepting the dining-room and kitchen, 
were turned into sleeping-chambers. Even the gin- 
house had its occupant, and three children were quar* 



280 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

tered in the little honey-house among the bee-hives. 
They were in quarantine there, as both the Burleigh 
house and the cottage in the yard had its fever patient. 
In addition to the people in the house who had fled 
there for safety from the fever, one or two convalescents 
came to recuperate, and the nurses came to rest after 
their patients had either died or gotten well. There 
were white nurses and negro nurses, and they were of 
both sexes. Augustine's son Thomas had come on a 
little visit just before this time, and seeing the trouble 
in which jis uncle was involved, resolved, in spite of 
earnest , emonstrance, to stay to render any assistance 
in his power. Augustine's daughters, Kannie and 
Letty and her husband and young children, were with 
difficulty induced to leave us. They became at length 
convinced that their presence would only add to the 
anxietj" and horror of the time. 

My father was told that he could not see his ill 
daughter. His presence seemed to excite her too much. 
One day as Sophy opened the door of the sick-room 
she found him standing there. "My child," he said, 
" when Sue falls asleep let me know. I must see her. 
I shall not disturb her." Accordingly he was sum- 
moned, and he got down on his hands and knees and 
crawled from the door across the large room till he 
reached the bedside. In this humble posture he re- 
mained many minutes, occasionally touching her hand, 
which lay outside the cover, lightly with his lips. 
When she awoke, he said, " My child, if I excite you, 
say one word, go, and I will go. If I may stay, say 
stay.^' That word was spoken, and he took her hand 
in both of his and covered it with his tears and kisses. 

Thomas's friend, John Shelton, and his son were 
ready to come to nurse the sick at Burleigh, but were 
informed that they were not needed, as trained nurses 
had arrived from the New Orleans hospitals. Supplies 
of provisions, medicines, and wines sent by the North 
and the South were received and distributed at the 
Burleigh door. 

For miles people sent for provisions, for the quaran- 
tine regulations made it impossible to get supplies from 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 



281 



the neighboring towns. A barrel of vinegar that had 
been made as the year's supply by the family was ex- 
hausted m a week. It required all the time of one 
person to attend to this part of the business. Wao-ons 
buggies, and horses stood waiting at the f^rate for the 
doctor or nurses or provisions, or for all three. Sup- 
plies were exhausted so rapidly that sometimes no meat 
was to be had for the immense household except the 
squirrels killed by my cousin Thomas. And sometimes 
there was no food in the house of any kind. As loner 
as It held out it was distributed. But the larder was 
never empty more than a few hours. The " shot-gun" 
quarantines at times made it a matter of peril to bring 
us this relief. One gentleman, a prosperous citizen of 
Jackson, himself drove a wagon filled with provisions 
to our door, because he could not hire a driver to do it. 
He travelled all night, and arrived just in time to avert 
serious want. Another man was shot at by his own 
nephew because he persisted in passing the picket-line 
which divided the infected district from the rest of the 
country. Over one thousand dollars were sent by the 
Howard associations in different cities and by friends 
to the family at Burleigh. Three of them had the 
fever, but all recovered. 

It was found necessary during these days of horror 
to keep up our spirits, by avoiding as far as possible all 
reference to the pestilence and its ravages. At the 
table, especially, such allusions were forbidden. The 
hst of deaths occurring the night before was not to 
be spoken of at breakfast. Afterwards the names of 
friends who had just died passed quietly and without 
comment from mouth to mouth. There was no givino- 
way to emotions. A man who had lost his wiS and 
two children, a woman whose husband, mother, brother, 
and child had died, a young girl who saw eight mem- 
bers of her family borne from the house, these, like the 
rest, gave no sign. 

It seemed so easy to die. Why should we weep ? 
VVe will soon follow them. Besides, there is no time 
for tears. The suffering and the dying are call'ng us. 
And the dead lie unburied, wrapped in blanket? ast as 

24* 



282 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER, 

they died, across the church pews, waiting for a tardy 
coffin and a shallow grave. At last the coffins do not 
come fast enough, and many are buried in goods boxes 
without a praj^er save the silent one breathed by the 
two men who give all their time to these last offices.* 

Thomas was in his eighty-first year, and the strain 
and anxiety and the labor he performed came near kill- 
ing him. One day he drove forty miles in passing back 
and forth between his house and Dry Grove, carrying 
food and fresh nurses to relieve exhausted ones. He 
said afterwards many, many times that he could never 
forgive himself for placing his children in such a posi- 
tion of danger. His daughters had obtained his con- 
sent before going into the fever-stricken village to nurse 
their friends. He seemed to think he had failed in his 
duty, and never ceased to express the deepest self-con- 
demnation at having yielded his judgment to their 
wishes. 

The neighborhood was desolated by the fever. 
During preceding years family connections and friends 
had died or moved away, and the circle of congenial 
friends, always small, had grown smaller as time went 
on. Under these circumstances, and as there appeared 
to be no hope of improvement in their surroundings, 
the Burleigh family resolved on leaving the old home 
Ibrever, as soon as the last of the debts were paid. A 
sum of money sent by Frederick Dabney as a gift to 
his uncle he sent at once to his creditors. Still, three 
years v^ere to elapse before the final payments were 
made. Our dearest father had been so shaken by the 
scenes that he and his children had passed through 
during the fever, that we thought it best to persuade 
him to take a change every winter by going to visit 
one or other of his married children. The summers 
were made pleasant at Burleigh by the society of his 
affectionate nieces and nephews and their families, but 
the winters were lonely and depressing. We were the 
more earnest in this, as during the years 1879 and '80 ho 

*As in time of war the favorite sport of children is playing soldier, 
BO in the last days of the pestilence the forlorn little orphans made 
mimic graves, decking them with wild flowers and grasses and marking 
Dead and foot with broken bits of china. 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 283 

lost three old and valued friends, — Mrs. Mary Eoy Cox, 
of Louisiana, Dr. Thomas A. Cooke, of Louisiana, and 
Governor A. Gr. Brown, of Mississippi. The firet two were 
life-long friends whom he had first known in Gloucester, 
and Dr. Cooke was the dearest friend of his life. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 14th June, 1879, 
... "As you have not seen that article of mine and 
can't get it, I enclose it to you ; not so much on account 
of any supposed merit that may attach to it (except 
historically) as to keep you and the major up with 
whatever I may be about. The paper contains enough 
of Buena Yista for one time, I suppose ; but, as I know 
a good deal more about it (from General Taylor's own 
lips to me at Pass Christian), I may give you more in- 
cidents from time to time. . . . Three days ago Sue 
asked me to pour some boiling water from the big tea- 
kettle, which I proceeded to do, and more than was de- 
sired, as I turned the spout on myself, and poured a 
tablespoonful or two in my shoe. As it was impossible 
to get the shoe, and particularly the sock, off until the 
water had cooled of itself, I have a burn that will annoy 
me for some time. My foot is considerably swollen and 
hurts me badly, and, as I cannot wear a shoe, I am 
confined to the house, and pretty much to my chair, 
with my foot cocked up on a pillow in another chair. 
This gives me leisure to think over my sins. Mr. Eoot, 
the great bee man of the North, offers through his 
paper one dollar a quart for bees, to which Sophy has 
responded by driving about a peck into a box and send- 
ing it to him. . . . 

" A sad accident happened to George Page's daugh- 
ter Puss and her husband two days ago. They had 
some powder in a trunk, which they attempted to take 
out, in the night, torch in hand. The powder ignited 
and burned them both terribl}^" . . . 

Thomas happened to have a few pounds of ice in the 
house and some ice-cream, which he sent to the burnt 
woman. She had not slept since the accident occurred, 
thirty-six hours before, and was in much agony. The ice- 



284 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

cream and ice acted like a charm, and she slept many 
hours, awaking quite refreshed late in the next day. 

" I ain't goin' to no Kansas," Puss said, when we 
went to see her. " I would have been dead now ef I 
had been in Kansas, away from marster."* 

It was characteristic of George Page that, when some 
of " his young ladies" went to his house on hearing of 
the accident, he met them at his gate and made demon- 
strations of not allowing them to enter. He and his 
house were not fit for us, he expressed in his earnest 
manner. But Susan came out with the tears running 
down her face to take us in and to explain that we 
must not mind George. " Heish, George," she ex- 
claimed. " Didn't I sen' fur de ladies ? an' here you tell 
'em not to come in ! Don't mind George, missis. He 
dunno what he talkin' 'bout. Go 'long, George, you 
talk so foolish." 

Thomas enjoyed much a visit from Bishop Quintard, 
of Tennessee, this fall. The bishop preached a Thanks- 
giving sermon in the little church at Dry Grove. Be- 
fore the sermon be said a few very earnest words on 
the subject of the kneeling posture in prayer. He had 
observed that many of the congregation kept their 
seats during the prayers. The country people belong- 
ing to the denominations in that part of the world do 
not, as a rule, kneel in church. Thomas was much im 
pressed by what the bishop said, and he resolved never 
again to fail to kneel at church or in his private devo- 
tions. At the next prayer nearly the whole congrega- 
tion knelt, but the man sitting next to Thomas, an old 
neighbor, maintained his sitting posture. Colonel Dab- 
ne}' gave him a thrust in the side, and said, " Why do 
you not kneel down ?" On which the man promptly 
knelt. 

T. S. D. TO HIS GRANDDAUGHTER, SOPHIA THURMOND. 

"Burleigh, December 3, 1879. 

"My dear Grandchild, — . . . And I am proud of 
your standing in your other classes. Do not be satisfied 

* There Avas quite an excitement among the negroes at this time in 
our part of the State on the subject of moving to Kansas, 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 285 

until jon reach the head of all of them. As some one 
must be at the head, I wish you to be the one. Of 
course, I see your letters to jowv mother, and think 
very highly of them and of your progress at school. 
CoLtinue, my dear, as you have begun, and you will 
nerer cease to rejoice over your attainments when you 
bavd become a woman." 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON BENJAMIN. 

"Burleigh, 27th December, 1879. 
. . . "Many thanks, my dear, good boy, for your 
thoughtful presents, which are appreciated with a full 
knowledge of the toil they cost you, and the many uses 
you had for the money. But you rather overdid it, 
as one barrel of oysters and half a barrel of oranges 
would have been ample. Should I live to afford vou 
the opportunity to repeat this thing, please be niore 
moderate. Major Greene performed his duty in exe- 
cuting your orders, as he selected himself the oysters, 
splendid single ones, and he had the oranges gathered 
from the trees on Monday, only two days before they 
came into my hands ; and they are the finest I ever 
saw, their excellent quality being due to their fresh- 
ness and to the fact that our summer ran into our 
winter down to the 24th of December; the tempera- 
ture on that day, in my passage, being up to 78°. 
John Dabney is expected to visit his Vicksburo- rela- 
tions within a week or so to spend a week, and then 
some of them will come out here for a week on a bier 
partridge and squirrel hunt. Marshall Miller says he 
will certainly come, but the work on the Yicksburg jet- 
lies may prevent Edward and Tom Greg from accom- 
;>anying him. I hope John may be able to come. He 
IS a noble specimen of a man, and so is Miller." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 28th December, 187y. 

"My beloved Child,— Your anxiety to have Ben's 
presents here in time tor Christmas made you under- 
rate, or disregard, all other considerations. As it hap- 
pened that Dr. Douglas opened the mail on Tuesday 
and found a card for his son Tavior and a letter for 



286 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

me, both from you, be immediately brougbt tbem to 
me, so that I received tbe earliest possible information 
of your intention to send perishable things up to me 
on that very day. Had he not been at the post-oflSce 
I should have remained in ignorance of these facts, as 
it was not convenient to us to communicate with the 
office on that day ; and, expecting nothing particularly, 
a messenger would not have been sent, and this goes 
to show that I should have had more notice. But I 
got the notice, sent to Terry that night, and had the 
oysters in the cellar and spread out before I went to 
bed. But I never saw oysters in such a condition, as 
they were actually hot, as in a state of fermentation. 
Ida and I turned in upon them and separated the dead 
from the living (there being but few of the latter) and 
spread these few on the cellar floor, and covered them 
with salt and meal and sprinkled them afterwards with 
water. These few gave us soup for two days. We 
were so keen for oysters that I opened some of the 
best-looking fellows with open countenances, and had 
them for our breakfast next morning. We all escaped 
death ; Ida's escape being due, perhaps, to her getting 
clear, in a hurry, of oysters, breakfast and all, by 
throwing them up. The balance of us managed to 
hold on by a tight squeeze. 

" Please observe, my child, that oysters are good at 
other times than on Christmas day, and had the ship- 
ment been deferred but three days they would have done 
us great service. And sufficient notice should nevei' be 
dispensed with ; the notice, in case of oysters, to run 
as follows, viz. : ' A barrel of oysters will be sent to 

Terry for you on next if the weather be suitable, 

and if not, when it becomes so, of which due notice 
jvill be given.' I am not finding fault with 3'ou, ni}' 
dear child, and if you think my words imply fault- 
finding, you must forgive me, for I know the misfor- 
tune had its origin in overzeal on your part to promote 
my happiness and that of your sisters. The oranges 
are the very best I ever saw, due to the care in their 
selection, and to the fact that our summer ran into our 
wintov down to the 24th of December. 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 287 

" P. S. — Don't let Ben know that any accident hap- 
pened to the oysters." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 15th June, 1880. 
"Sophy and I returned from Governor Brown's yes- 
terday, our admirable friend having died the previous 
night of apoplexy, or something of that nature. Mrs. 
Brown was quite sick, and the governor went to Terry 
in the afternoon (Saturday) for a doctor and some ice, 
taking his carriage-driver along. The doctor left im- 
mediately, the governor following soon after. Arriv- 
ing at the gate opening upon his lawn, he dismounted 
to open it, and leading through, he again mounted the 
horse and proceeded to the pond to water him. In 
about ten minutes afterwards the cook observed the 
horse loose, and gave the alarm. The carriage-driver 
went to the pond immediately, saw the hat floating 
and the governor's shoulders and the back of his head 
protruding above the water, which was two feet deep 
at that place. He was in a crouching posture, his 
arms thrust forward and downward, embracing his 
legs, and his face submerged. Neither his shoulders 
nor the back of his head had been in the water. How 
the equilibrium was maintained is a mystery. A doc- 
tor was there, who pronounced him dead. He was in 
the water not exceeding fifteen minutes, perhaps ten. 
His lungs could not have acted since the moment of 
the submergence of his face, as not a drop of water 
issued either from his mouth or nose. He therefore 
did not drown, neither did he fall from his horse. Had 
he fallen, he must have gone clear under. It is sup- 
posed, as the only tenable conjecture, that he lost his 
hat, and in attempting its recovery by means of his 
cane, he lost his balance, and, finding he must ga he 
clung to the horse's neck and mane until he got his 
feet into the water, and then sunk down dead. He 
had been complaining for some days of an undue deter- 
mination of blood to the head, which Mrs. Brown had 
attempted to subdue by wet cloths, etc. ... As he 
was not wet all over, he did not fall, and, as not a drop 



288 MEMORIALS OF A SOVTHERIs' PLANTER. 

of water was in his stomach or lungs, he did not drown. 
After satisfying myself fully on these points, I told 
Mrs. Brown that the governor must have been dead 
b}' the time he struck the water, to which she said 
yes . . . She had decided on nothing further than that 
she would go to Washington. We urged her to make 
Burleigh her home in the mean time, and at her pleas- 
ure, Sophy adding that either she or Sue would go to 
Chicama and stay with her, if she preferred it to com- 
ing here. She made no reply by words." 

The summer of 1880 was a very happy one, the 
house being full of his brother's children and grand- 
children and his own. We had many merry dances, 
in which our dear father joined us when we repre- 
sented to him that he was needed as a partner. He 
never danced after this summer. In the latter part 
of August he met with an accident that confined him 
to his bed for five months, and produced a stiff'ness of 
the legs that lasted as long as he lived. Happening to 
be engaged in conversation as he was about to take 
his seat, he moved backward to his chair and sat by 
the side of it, instead of in the seat. His fall was 
heav}-, and he struck his head with force against the 
sharp edge of a door as he went down. He fainted 
four times in quick succession from pain, and then fell 
into a five hours' sleep, from which it was impossible 
to rouse him. We tried everything before the doctor 
got there, among other remedies putting mustard- 
plasters on the legs. In our hurry and grief the j^las- 
ters were forgotten till they had burned deeply. At 
the end of the sleep he awoke perfectly in his senses, 
and would have been as well as ever in two days 
but for the mustard-burns. His patience and bright- 
ness during this confinement were the surprise of all 
who visited him, for he had led an active life, and had 
not had the discipline of bodily suff'ering. Not a com- 
plaint escaped his lips, although at times the pain was 
almost unbearable, and it was more than once thought 
that amputation only could give him a chance for his 
life. He was quite helpless, of course, and could not 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 28S 

be left alone during the day or night. His old ser- 
vants took care of him at night for weeks, coming in 
turn to sleep on the floor by the side of his bed when 
their day's work was over. Some whom he had 
thought ill of, and had sent off the plantation, came 
now and nursed him. On Sundays they came in large 
numbers to visit him. He was extreme!}' gratified by 
these spontaneous attentions. Books and letters from 
his children and friends filled up the days. 

In the prime of his busy life he had quite given up 
reading everything but newspapers, but after he no 
longer had the cares of a plantation he turned to books 
with almost the love of a bookworm. History was his 
preference, and he went through the excellent and 
rather large collection in his library. Some of them 
he read many times. After they were exhausted he 
grew omnivorous in his tastes, and read every book that 
came in his way, frequently reading from morning till 
night, and, unless his eyes were too tired, until late at 
night. His wonderful power of adapting himself to 
changed circumstances and surroundings was in no way 
more conspicuously shown than in this turning to books 
for entertainment when he was over sixty years of age. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Burleigh, 22d December, 1880. 

"My beloved Child, — I am confined to the house 
almost entirely, walking out in the yard two to three 
times in a week, which I can just do by the help of 
a cane, and very slowly at that. But this is a great im- 
provement on confinement to one's bed, or the inca- 
pacity to walk at all. These sores on my feet have 
proved more obstinate than either Dr. West or Tom 
anticipated, although they both knew that a burn by 
mustard was the worst of all. They are tantalizing 
to the last degree, assuming a convalescent ibi-m for a 
week or two and then falling back to their old tricks." 

T. S. D. TO HIS daughter EMMY. 

"Burleigh, 16th September, 1881. 
. . . "We have had a lively time here, with the 
biggest crowd that was ever in the house. In addition 
N 25 



290 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

to Letty's family, who are here yet, we had the Kev. 
Dr. Tucker's, from Jackson (wife and three chikJren), 
Mrs. Sidway and three children and nurse, Nanny, my 
brother's wife, Martha, Kate Nelson, a Miss Coifey (a 
friead of Tom's, from New Orleans), and callers con- 
stantly coming in. The tables had to be set diagonally, 
and sometimes three to four had to sit at a side-table." 

In the fall of 1881 Thomas was in New Orleans 
when the great-grandsons of G-eneral Lafayette were 
received by the city. They were informed that he 
wished to be presented to them, and they gave him an 
audience of an hour before the opening of the ball 
which was given in their honor by the people of New 
Orleans. He knew no French, and these young gentle- 
men knew no English. Two of Colonel Dabney's 
daughters acted as interpreters. The French gentle- 
men said to him on this occasion that he was the only 
person whom they had met in their tour through the 
United States who had seen their great-grandfather, 
the marquis, when he was in this country. Thomas 
gave them an account of the dinner at Yorktown given 
to General Lafayette, which he had attended. He 
amused them very much by saying that the cham- 
pagne drunk on that day laid many an American on 
the floor, but the French guests were not affected by 
it, though they drank quite as much as their enter- 
tainers. 

In December he went to Bonham, Texas, to spend a 
^w months with his son Benjamin and his family. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER IDA. 

"Bonham, Texas, 5th January, 1882. 

... "I have seen a rabbit-hunt, and found it to be 
very exciting, even under the disadvantage of being in 
a buggy, and therefore incapable of joining in the 
chase. But we (Ben and I) kept pretty well along, as 
the scene was an open prairie, without obstruction to 
the vision for many miles. There were fourteen hunts- 
men and eight greyhounds, who run by sight alone, as 
3^ou probably know. When the quarry gets out of 



LIFE AT BURLEIGH. 291 

their sight they relinquish the chase, as they have no 
sense of smell, or too little to be available on such occa- 
sions. The huntsmen 'breast' it across the prairie and 
rouse the rabbits themselves, the dogs taking no part 
in that portion of the programme. A rabbit being 
roused by one of them, he claps spurs to his horse with 
a yell, and puts right at him at full speed, the dogs and 
the other huntsmen rushing to that point without loss 
of time, and away they go. Four of them were caught ; 
one of them kept ahead of dogs and huntsmen for two 
miles or more, but the others were taken at less dis- 
tance. One was not taken, and remains for another 
day. On the whole, I think fox-hunting better, but 
this is the natural sport of the prairies." 

It was in February of this year that my father heard 
with profound sorrow of the death of his nephew, John 
Hampden Chamberlayne. This rarely-gifted young 
man had already made his influence felt throughout 
the State of Virginia, and he was regarded as her ablest 
citizen among the rising generation. The briefest 
notice of Hampden Chamberlayne would be incom- 
plete without some mention of his incomparable powers 
as a conversationalist. Persons familiar with the most 
brilliant society of the Old World have declared that 
he would have shone pre-eminent and almost without 
a peer in London or in Paris. In heart and character 
he was as richly endowed as in mind, and his big- 
hearted, loving ways won the enduring affection of all 
his Southern kinsfolk. He had already sent loving 
messages of welcome to his uncle's family in anticipa- 
tion of seeing them settled in a home so near his own, 
and had promised to come to Baltimore as soon as he 
heard of my father's arrival there. 

T. S. D. TO HIS NIECE, MARTHA C. DABNEY. 

" New Orleans, 24th February, 1882. 

"My beloved Niece, — Sophy sent me your sweet 
letter, and as every member of my household is always 
hungry for anything that comes from you, I placed the 
letter immediately on its travels again, sending it to 



292 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Bonham, Texas, where Sue now is, and where she will 
be until about the 1st of April, when she and those 
still at Burleigh will pull up stakes for their final and 
permanent removal to Baltimore. I will remain here 
until warm weather, as I find that my capacity to gen- 
erate heat has become much enfeebled within the last 
two to three years, or ever since the epidemic at Dry 
Grove. I was with the dead and dying there many 
days before Sue was stricken, and then, although she 
recovered, the strain on my whole sj^stem was so in- 
tense as to leave me prett}" much a child, physically, 
when it relaxed. I have never recovered from it, and 
was ten to fifteen years older within a week or two ; 
but they are taking good care of me, and affect to ex- 
pect to tide me over several sand-bars yet. They are 
good children, these of mine, and the same may be 
said of my nieces and nephews, for I cannot discover 
the difference in affection between the two sets. I am 
here with Emmy. The profession of Major G-reene 
allows him very little time for his family. Emmy is 
delightfully situated within the French district, but 
within easy walking distance of Canal Street, and in a 
French boarding-house, where her children are re- 
stricted to the French language." 



CHAPTEE XXIII. 

QUIET DAYS. 

In April the Burleigh family moved to Baltimore. 
Our dear father was with his daughter Emmy, and did 
not come to join us in the simple home till November. 



qUIET DAYS. 293 

By this time we had made it as comfortable and home- 
like as his limited means would allow. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Baltimore, 8th December, 1882. 98 John Street. 

" Thanksgiving-Day gave Yirginius a good chance 
to close the doors of his school for four days. He de- 
voted those four days to me, coming down on Wednes- 
day night and remaining until Sunday night, when he 
returned home. Those were four happy days to all of 
us. He brought his son Noland to show him to me, as 
I used to take one of my children every other year to 
Virginia to show to their grandmother. My grandson 
Noland is a very fine boy, indeed. As the Christmas 
holidays in the schools in New York last two weeks, 
Yirginius will come here then for some days. . . . Our 
cousin, Mar}- Smith, wrote to Sue a few days ago that 
she would send her a teapot with a broken spout, some 
cracked glass, and some chipped china. A hogshead 
and a box arrived yesterday, and was found to contain 
the teapot, sure enough, and some splendid glass 
(cracked, to be sure, but we had to hunt for the 
cracks), with a good deal that is not cracked. The 
china consists of a full set of dinner dishes and plates 
(four dozen plates, I suppose), and dishes for all pur- 
poses, — for the largest fish and sirloin and round of 
beef and vegetables. There are some exquisite glass 
pitchers and peculiar tumblers and other things in the 
glass line, not cracked at all. Of chipped china, I sup- 
pose there may be half a dozen plates, with little specks 
chipped off the edges, that you must look for to see. 
Well, those things only filled the hogshead two-thirds 
full, and that little crack was filled with table-cloths, 
napkins, and other things that I do not know the name 
of The box contained the most exquisite parlor-chair 
I ever saw. Mary writes that she will make another 
consignment shortly! She is a good girl, decidedly. 

"Last night, cold as it was, Lelia (you know she 
never allows anything to turn her) went three-quarters 
of a mile or more to attend some society of which she 
is a member, and was half frozen when she got back. 

25* 



294 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

She said the wind — a keen northwester — blew her 
dress up above her knees in spite of her efforts to the 
contrary'". An old gentleman running near them (there 
were three girls with Lelia) had his hat blown off in 
spite of his efforts to keep it on, and it gave the four 
girls some trouble to recover the hat, but they perse- 
vered until they captured it. 

"I look out of the window at the ice and snow and 
at the car-drivers and others in the street, all muffled 
up to the chin and nose, and I, meantime, in a temper- 
ature of seventy degrees, unconscious, personallj^, of 
winter, except for the glowing fires in the stoves, that 
keep the whole house at about seventy degrees through- 
out the day and most of the night. So you see the 
climate of Baltimore is a matter of no consequence to 
me at all. I have about arrived at the conclusion that 
should I ever be able to divide my time between the 
North and South, I would make Baltimore my winter 
and Pass Christian my summer home. But this can 
never be, of course. . . . The people here suit me en- 
tirely. The neighbors met me for the first time as if 
they had known me always. The city is full of poor 
Virginians, made poor by the war, and being poor and 
well bred, all ostentation is tabooed, and they give you 
what they have without apology." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 98 John Street, 1883. 
. . . "As my acquaintance extends I find that the 
girls made no mistake when they elected Baltimore as 
their future home. I say their, because I cannot expect 
to enjoy it with them veiy long; but it is my wish to 
have a good place whilst I am with them, and with 
the hope of seeing you and your dear little ones some- 
times." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Baltimore, 5th January, 1883. 98 John Street. 

''My beloved Child, — My birthday dinner wound 
up with a snow-storm last night, and the wind this 



qUIET DAYS. 295 

morning is pretty sharp, but it does not affect me in 
this house. Yirginius came on the 3d to be in time, 
and we had the pastor of this parish and his wife (Mr. 
and Mrs. Dame) to join our family. The girls gave us 
a very fine dinner, — a turkey that the dealer in the 
market could not sell, because it was too large, Sophy 
bought; and a noble gobbler he was, and elegantly 
cooked. A ham of bacon and vegetables constituted 
the first course after soup. The best plum-pudding I 
ever tasted, with other things, then came in, to be suc- 
ceeded by oranges, apples, etc., to wind up with coffee. 
"We were at the table two and one-half hours, and well 
employed all the time. Mrs. M., aunt of Yirginius's 
wife, and a splendid woman she is, dropped in while we 
were discussing the pudding, and was induced to take 
a seat at our table. I had called on her on the 1st of 
January in conformity to the custom in these cities. I 
had previously called at S. T.'s, and wound up at two 
other houses, when I broke down, and could not call 
on other ladies with whom I have become acquainted, 
but all of them most kindly excuse me on such occa- 
sions on account of my age, and come to see me in the 
most kind and polite way. I receive such attentions 
constantly. ... It does me more good than I can well 
describe to see Yirginius. He comes in with open 
arms, with which he encloses me, and then kisses me 
with the fervor of a lover when first accepted. He 
kisses me and lets me go, and then kisses me again. It 
makes my old heart quiver. But I kiss him in turn !" 



T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Baltimore, 8th January, 1883, 6 p.m. 

"Mt beloved Child, — We are enjoying winter in all 
its loveliness, as I am still boy enough to enjoy snow. 
If I had to attend market before day with a few vege- 
tables, on the sale of which the daily bread of a wife 
and half-dozen children depended, it is more than prob- 
able that my taste would be different. But, as it is, 
the sight of falling snow exhilarates and elevates my 
spirits." 



296 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 21st January, 1883. 98 John Street. 
..." Snow has lain on the ground for two weeks, 
and the Baltimoreans have been using sleighs for that 
length of time, with a prospect of continuance, as it is 
very cold now, with a prospect of heavy snow to-night. 
But these things do not concern me, as I am not obliged 
to go out, and so I keep my shins warm, read and 
write, and feed the sparrows from the dining-room 
window. ... I am more and more pleased with Balti- 
more and the Baltimoreans." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 98 John Street, February 20, 188o. 

"My darling Child, — Something, I do not know 
what, turned my attention to the condition of these 
four single daughters of mine on yesterday, and made 
me shudder. With all of Ida's energj^, Burleigh has 
proved inadequate to their support, as she has been 
forced to spend most of the rents in building houses, 
digging wells or cisterns or ditches, and clearing up 
the creeks and bayous, and this work is far from being 
completed yet. I pictured to myself what would be- 
come of these daughters if I died, with my old will 
of fifteen to twenty years ago left in my desk as my 
last will and testament. Under that will the Burleigh 
estate would have to be divided into nine equal parts, 
as near as might be, each of my children taking one 
part, except Yirginius, who, I thought, had had his 
share. If the whole estate has proved inadequate to 
the support of four, how could these four support 
themselves on four-ninths, and these chopped up into 
detached pieces? I saw at once that something had 
to be done, and that quickly, and I did it this morn- 
ing without the slightest suggestion from any one. I 
now wonder why it took me so long to see it. What 
fearful risks I have gone through during the last few 
years, and yet have lived to do it! As all of my 
children (and I devoutly thank God for it), except 
these four, are now able to take care of themselves, 



qUIET DAYS. 297 

and are taldng care of themselves, I made a new will 
this morning, leaving the Burleigh plantation and all 
that is on it, and the furniture that is here, to these 
four daughters of mine and Sophy's daughter Sophia. 
The silver is to be divided equally among my ten chil- 
dren, after taking out the large urn, which I give to 
you, and this is the only earthly thing that I have to 
bestow on my dear children, and that could not be 
divided. To avoid mistakes, I will state that the urn 
must be considered as your share of the silver, the rest 
to be divided among the other nine, so that each one 
will have something with my initials cut on it. This 
is the best I could do, and I have no doubt about the 
others being satisfied at your having the lion's share, 
as some one had to get it, and none more worthy than 
5'ou, whom I picked out to have it, having the un- 
doubted right to do so. 

"I hope, my darling, that you will approve the 
whole will, and I am sure you will do so after thinking 
over the matter a little." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 22d March, 1883. 98 John Street. 

"My darling Child,— I cannot thank you suffi- 
ciently for your sweet, loving letter of the 18th, just re- 
ceived from your quiet, delicious home at McComb. 
Those two arm-chairs, called mine by you, remaining 
still in the front porch and awaiting mj occupancy, 
must remain without my corporeal occupancy yet a 
little longer, perhaps indefinitely; but my heart hovers 
over them and every crack and cranny of that estab- 
lishment without ceasing; not that I lack loving hearts 
here, for they hover round me and anticipate every 
imaginable want of mine, as though I was an infant, — 
as I am indeed in too many respects. The3^ have to 
undress and dress me partially every night and morn- 
ing. I am getting old, old, old, faster and faster, having 
been broken down again by a very severe attack of 
cold when in New York. I went too early, and was 
caught by the three worst weeks of the winter. When 
r said I had to return home Virgin ius considered it 



298 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

necessary for him to accompanj me, and he accordingly 
delivered me into my arm-chair that now stands before 
me before he let me go. 

"My first two weeks in New York were most royally 
spent. I dined at No. 4 twice, and they had anothei 
dinner on the tapis for the da}" before my departure, 
but I had to decline on account of serious indisposition. 
Yirginius, Anna, and my grandchildren hovered over 
me as a hen would over a sick chicken, and left me 
nothing to ask for or to wish for, so that I was not 
reminded while there that I had lived too long." 

The stiffness of our dearest father's limbs made it so 
painful for him to kneel that we begged him not to at- 
tempt it at family prayers. Soon it grew to be impos- 
sible. One Sunda}^, as one of his daughters sitting 
next him in church asked him to go to the communion 
with her, he said that he could not, because he would 
not be able to get up if he knelt at the altar-rail. She 
answered that he could receive it standing, and she 
would stand with him. He feared that the rector 
would not approve, and asked her not to fail to explain 
to him as soon as they reached the chancel. This she 
did, although the rector's look showed that he under- 
stood, and no explanation was needed. As he turned to 
walk to his seat, there were some moist eyes in the city 
church, where he was comparatively a stranger. During 
the last two years of his life he might be seen on com- 
munion Sundays standing to receive the sacred elements, 
the snowy head bent in prayer. A bishop said that the 
venerable standing figure preached many sermons. 

The following account of one of his Scott County 
hunts was written by Thomas at the request of a 
friend : 

" Baltimork, Md., April 17, 1883. 

• ' My dear Sir, — In conformity to your request, I 
subjoin an account of some of my camping experiences 
in Scott County. ... I procured a tent large enough 
to accommodate twelve persons, took a small four-horse 
wagon, to which I attached four fine mules, and took a 
man along besides the wagoner, to take charge of the 



quiET DA vs. 299 

first deer that I might kill, and save me from packing 
any until I had killed two. I had a box made, into 
which my gun and rifle fitted perfectly, so that, no 
matter how rough the road might be, they were se- 
cured against chafing. From the time that I left Scott 
until a year later the cover never came off that gun, 
so that the first deer that I might kill the next fall 
fell by a load that had been in the gun twelve months. 
I had always thought such rounds more effective than 
those more recently put in. 

" But you want to hear about that remarkable hunt. 
It was the last, or next to the last, of my series of 
eight years in Scott. 

" Our ' regulars' were on hand, as usual, on the 
Friday' after the first Monday in November. "We 
pitched our tents on the east of Line Prairie, and 
stuck our pegs in the same holes that they had occu- 
pied for the first two or three previous years, as we 
could not hope to find a better location, — good water 
at hand and abundance of game. We would start 
out from camp ' in line' a quarter- to a half-mile long, 
breasting it round the prairie, and it would take us all 
day to make the circuit. I have many a time, after 
' drawing a bead' on a fine doe that had jumped up 
within three feet of my horse's nose, replaced my gun 
across my lap upon finding that no horns were on the 
head of the quarry. This, perhaps, will give you a 
better idea of the number of deer to be found in that 
locality at that time than anything else that I could 
say. I did not do that every time, but only after I had 
killed a certain number, and was tired. I then went 
for the bucks alone. 

" As I have said, we formed in line, thirty to fifty 
yards apart, and moved forward as the word reached 
us from the captain, who occupied the centre ; but at 
the report of a gun every man suddenly stopped. If a 
deer was killed, one or two nearest to the shooter went 
to him to viscerate and help to throw the deer on his 
horse, when he, having reloaded and remounted, would 
shout out ' go ahead,' and the line again moved for- 
ward. It was a rule that no one should move until 



800 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

the word came; but this rule required no enforcing, as 
to be in advance of the line would be to occupy a very 
dangerous position. 

" On one occasion a dozen harum-scarum fellows 
joined our party when we were but one day out. We 
had but little knowledge of some of them, and none of 
others. They set all rules at defiance, tearing through 
the woods in all directions, sometimes observing our 
line of march, and sometimes meeting us. How it 
happened that none of them were killed is a mystery. 
One of them shot the horse of another, and seemed to 
think it was part of the fun. As one of our party was 
passing within two or three feet of a large post-oak, 
the bark of the tree was thrown so violently against 
his face as to hurt him, and two buckshot were after- 
wards found in the horn of his saddle, — all the work of 
one of those fellows. We could stand it no longer, and 
upon our suggesting that we could do better in two 
parties they left us. But they had interfered with our 
hunt, almost consuming one of the three dsijs of that 
memorable hunt. At the end of the third day, how- 
ever, finding that we had killed and hung up ninety- 
three deer, a proposition was made that we should 
start next morning for the public road, six miles off 
(and so far on our way home), and it was agreed to. 
We accordingly gave the necessary instructions to our 
servants, and struck out by compass for a certain point 
on the public road, and missed it by very little. 

" When about to start, some one remarked that we 
must get the other seven, to which another replied, 
' We will do that and not half try.' We got thirteen. 
We had not proceeded more than one mile before I 
had killed three, and the hunt was closed. ... I can- 
not close without giving you some account of one of 
our ' regulars.' His name was Mount, the most hare- 
brained, crazy fellow in the woods I ever saw, and but 
for his good nature and willingness at all times to take 
hold of anything and everything heavy or dirty, and 
to make himself useful generally and particularly, he 
could not have been tolerated, as it was dangerous to 
hunt with him. Towards the last, and for some time, 



qUIET DAYS. 301 

no one but myself would ride next to him, and I re- 
quired him to ride at my left side. He would shoot at 
the flash of a deer's tail, without estimating the dis- 
tance, and he was known to use up a bag of buckshot 
in every hunt of several days' duration, and often had 
to go to Hillsborough for a fresh supply. On one occa- 
sion, he and I being close together, he crippled a buck 
(for he killed one occasionally), and although a deer 
was already tied to his saddle, he raised the shout of 
an Indian, clapped spurs to his horse, and was off at 
full speed, I after him. He flushed a little deer that 
took the back track, but Mount saw him, and without 
drawing rein, or turning his head, threw his gun over 
his shoulder and let fly; but the muzzle of his gun was 
a little depressed below the perpendicular, and no harm 
was done either to the deer or to me. I could fill a dozen 
pages with Mount's pranks, but must let this suffice." 

At this time my father got into a correspondence 
with a distant kinsman, Mr. William H. Dabney, of 
Boston, whom he had never met. He was now in his 
eighty-sixth year, but he enjoyed this correspondence, 
and kept it up with the freshness of youth. A few se- 
lected from his many letters to Mr. Dabney will show 
this. 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

" Baltimore, 29tli June, 1883. 

" My son, Yirginius Dabney, of New York, has for- 
warded to me your letter of the 25th inst., in which 
my name is mentioned as the oldest known member of 
the Dabney family, and I presume I will have to accept 
the patriarchal position, as I am in my eighty-sixth 
year, having been born on the 4th of January, 1798. I 
have read your letter with great interest and pleasure, 
although restraining with difficulty a blush at my utter 
inability to aid you in your labor of love. . . . But I 
do know something of m}^ family. 

"I know that my grandfather lived on the east bank 
of the Pamunkey River, in King William County ; that 
he had a numerous family of sons and daughters, some 
of whom remained on the paternal acres, as they were 

26 



302 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

divisible. Others went to Cumberland County with a 
Mr. Thornton, who married one of the daughters. My 
father, Benjamin, who was a lawyer, removed to York 
River, and afterwards to North River, in Gloucester 
County, where he died in 1806. His eldest brother, 
George, retained the mansion-house on the Pamunkey 
River, known during the war, as before and since, as 
Dabney's Ferry. Two other sons. Dr. James Dabney 
and Major Thomas Dabney, lived and died, the first on 
North River in Gloucester County, and the other near 
Aylett's in King William. 

"Should any matter of business or pleasure draw 
you to Baltimore, you will please make my house your 
home for the time. . . . Have you read Dick Taylor's 
book (General Richard Taylor's), 'Destruction and 
Reconstruction'? If not, I advise you to get it, as the 
best and most readable book that the civil war has 
brought out, — better written, interesting, and fresh a& 
a novel, with the impress of truth on every line. 

" There is not a doubt in my mind but that Grant 
saved this country from some — God only knows how 
much — of the scenes of the French Revolution. Andy 
Johnson, with Morton and Stanton, backed by other 
hyenas of the Senate, were for blood. They were out- 
spoken for making ' treason odious' by punishing the 
leaders of the 'rebellion.' Think of having R. E. Lee, 
Joseph E. Johnston, Stonewall Jackson hung! Could 
any Southern man or woman have stood by and looked 
on quietly? Could many Northern men have looked 
on with hands in their pockets? Did the twenty-two 
Girondins and Danton and Robespierre expect their 
turn to come, and so soon, when they saw the guillotine 
doing its work so glibly on Louis and Marie Antoinette? 
Does it not make the heart sick to think of what we 
have escaped, and so narrowly? When Andy Johnson 
announced his intention to make treason odious. Grant 
said NO, and the power behind the throne was greater 
than the throne itself. Lee was allowed to retire with- 
out even giving up his sword or even formally to ac- 
knowledge himself as on parole (that is my impression); 
but men of their style consider themselves as much 



qUIET DAYS. 303 

bound by a tacit understanding as by a formal one 
under oath and bond. How grand and lovely is that 
idea, and how worthy of such men ! But perhaps, my 
dear cousin (if I may take so great a liberty as to call 
you so), I am giving you more than you bargained for. 
It is quite certain that I have strayed very wide of 
the original object of this correspondence, and I will 
therefore return to it by the recital of a single anecdote 
in which my branch of the Dabney family is concerned, 
for I see plainly that this is not the last letter with 
which I shall have to trouble you. 

" Mr. Philip Tabb, of Gloucester, of whom you may 
have heard, when on his way to the "White Sulphur 
Springs, fell in with a great-uncle of mine, James 
Dabney, and they not only put up at the same inn, but 
were put into the same room. As they were undressing, 
Mr. Tabb did not fail to observe that he was in the 
company of a man of extraordinary physical power, 
and his curiosity prompted him to ask my uncle to be 
so good as to strip to his shirt, as he wished to see and 
feel his muscular development. This was done with a 
laugh, and then Mr. Tabb asked him if he had ever 
struck a man, thinking, obviously, that the man must 
have been killed. ' Yes,' was the reply ; ' I struck one, 
and came near being whipped for my impudence.' Of 
course he had to tell the story. He had occasion to 
make a journey of eighty to ninety miles from home 
(on horseback, of course), and on the way ho observed 
a very mean cornfield, — mean from neglect, obviousl}", 
— and having some negroes working in it (or affecting 
to do so). He inquired who was their overseer. Upon 
being told, he said to the negroes, ' Tell 3'our overseer 
that I will return day after to-morrow, and will give 
him a whipping for not having his corn in better order.' 
' Yes, master !' shouted the negroes in chorus, showing 
their teeth from ear to ear. He returned on time, and 
on approaching the place he observed a man sitting on 
the fence, facing the road. Remembering his message, 
he measured the man with his eyes, and saw that he 
was no baby. He had been observed, too, and recog- 
nized af^ the gentleman to whom he was indebted for 



304 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

the message. He accordingly slipped off the fence 
(the negroes coming to it at the same time), and with 
a bow asked my uncle if he was the gentleman who 
had lell a message for him two days ago. He acknowl- 
edged it with a laugh, and tried to turn it off with a 
laugh, and as a joke, but the overseer was no joker, 
and told him that he had to make good his promise, 
taking hold on his bridle and inviting him to dismount, 
which he had to do. All the rules of chivalry were 
observed. The horse was tied to a limb of a tree, and 
both knights (!) went at it. My uncle told Mr. Tabb 
that he was fairly whipped twice, and on the point of 
giving up, but his pride came to his aid, and he held on 
until the overseer stopped battering him, and said he 
thought they had better quit, and he acknowledged the 
gentleman had redeemed his promise. The negroes in 
the mean time had mounted the fence, and shouted 
and laughed, as only negroes can laugh, throughout 
the fray. My uncle was laid up two weeks, with his 
face and eyes so swollen as to make him partially blind 
for one week or more. He never struck a man after- 
wards. I suppose Francisco was the most athletic 
man Virginia ever produced. He was doorkeeper to 
the House of Delegates for many years, and I have 
often seen him at his post." 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

"July 31, 1883. 

" I consider the conduct of your brother in opening 
his doors to Mr. Cover, who was sent to Fayal to sup- 
plant him, as one of the most remarkable acts of mag- 
nanimity I ever heard of, and Mr. Cover's acceptance 
of hospitality under such circumstances not less re- 
markable. His early death and abdication, if such a 
view were admissible, may be looked upon as acts of 
courtesy in requital of your brother's kindness. I have 
never mentioned to you that my wife died just on the 
eve of hostilities between the sections, leaving me ten 
children to care for, — four sons and six daughters, — 
all of whom are now living and doing fairly well. I 
fought against secession as long as there was any sense 



qVIET DAYS. 305 

or patriotism in it ; but when the war came, three of 
my boys shook hands with me and shouldered their 
rifles. It was my great good fortune to greet them on 
their return. My youngest, Benjamin, was but four- 
teen years old whun I took leave of him ; my eldest 
you have some knowledge of. He belonged to General 
Lee's army, and was with him at Appomattox, di- 
viding the general's breakfast with him just before the 
meeting of the two generals took place ; for neither 
had eaten anything up to that time. My son had 
nothing to eat, and the general only a few slices of 
ham and bread in one of his pockets. A part of this 
he ordered him to accept, for he had to put it in the 
form of an ' order' before it was accepted. And here 
again Grant acted the gentleman, as he apologized to 
General Lee for not having his sword on, giving as 
the reason that he had no time to go for it, taking 
care to forget that General Lee's sword might have 
supplied the deficiency. 

" I got an item from your last letter of more than 
ordinary interest: nothing less than that a son of mine 
and a nephew of yours were at Appomattox. Their 
swords were in their scabbards then, but they had 
been naked, and might have been plunged in the 
bosoms of each other. Such a war ! If the scoundrels 
who brought on that war could have been pushed to 
the front and kept there until the last one of them 
had been annihilated, it would have been well ; but that 
was not in the Southern programme. The Whigs, 
who, to a man very nearly, opposed secession, did the 
fighting, soft places being provided for the Democrats, 
who did the shouting ; but enough of that. 

"I may have mentioned to you, but am not certain, 
that my father was married twice, and that I am the 
oldest of the second batch. He left two sons (George 
and Ben) by his first wife, and one daughter (Ann). 
George went into the navy, was present at the battle 
of Tripoli, and had the good fortune to save the life 
of Decatur in that memorable and desperate affair by 
running his bayonet through a gigantic pirate (Al- 
gerino), who had Decatur down, and was about to 
M 26* 



306 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

transfix him to the deck of the frigate ('Philadelphia,' 1 
think, was her name), when my brother, who was near, 
took him on his bayonet and bore him over the side of 
the ship, the pirate taking the musket to the bottom 
in his death-grip. George was as strong a man as the 
pirate, and probably much stronger, as he killed a large 
dog with his fist at a single blow, and may have killed 
a man in this city in the same way, but this is not cer- 
tainly known. My brother had come here with his 
wheat; had sold it and imprudently drawn the money, 
and, more imprudently still, had gone out on a 'spree' 
after dark; had pulled out his roll of money in a drink- 
ing establishment to pay for some drinks; was noticed 
by a rufiaan, who followed him and attempted to stab 
him ; but his dirk struck the knife that was in his 
waistcoat-pocket, splitting the buckhorn incasing it, 
only giving my brother a jar. He threw his left hand 
round behind, seized the fellow by the collar, and felled 
him to the pavement. He appeared to be dead. He 
had but one of two things to do, — to call the watch or 
to escape to his schooner that was to sail in the morn- 
ing. He called the watch, showed him the broken- 
pointed dirk that lay on the pavement, his broken 
knife in the pocket of his waistcoat, and the gash that 
had been made in his waistcoat by the dirk. The 
watchman believed my brother's account of the affair 
and did not arrest him, but summoned him to attend 
the police court in the morning ; but he was far down 
the bay at that hour, and heard nothing more of the 
ruffian. My brother Ben was a powerful man too, but 
not as strong as George, though more active. Feuds 
were in fashion at William and Marj- College when 
Ben was a student there, between the students and the 
young men of the city. Ben was always the champion 
of the college, and would accept a challenge to fight 
any two of the citizens, and sometimes three at a time, 
and generally came off victor. My maternal grand- 
father was the Eev. Thomas Smith, of Westmoreland 
County, Virginia, of the Established Church of Eng- 
land, of course, and General Washington was one of 
his parishioners." 



qUIET DATS. 307 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

"Baltimore, 29th September, 1883. 

" Enclosed you will find the long-coveted letter from 
ray erratic friend, as you call him, and I hope you may 
not find it as diflScult to unravel as Dr. Slop found un- 
tying Obadiah's knots. 

"I think it will amuse you for some time, and, not 
to be entirely idle myself, I will not take advantage of 
your kind permission to give myself no further trouble 
in the premises. I will still continue to dig about the 
tree that you are so faithfully endeavoring to decorate 
with fruit. 

"I am much engaged just now in arranging mj 
house for a 'new departure' in housekeeping, and must 
defer the interesting anecdotes that my daughters 
imagine they can extract from me for the edification 
of yourself and daughters." 

The concluding words of this letter are full of pathos 
to those who know the gloomy circumstances under 
which the brave, gay lines were written. 

One year's housekeeping in the new home in the 
city had taught the family that the expenditures were 
larger than the inco-me. The simplest way — indeed, 
the only feasible way — of keeping an unbroken fam- 
ily circle around the father was to rent out all the 
rooms except those actually needed. By this arrange- 
ment he would be cut off from the greatest comfort 
and pleasure of his old age, the visits from his absent 
children. Yirginius had made it his pious duty and 
pleasure to come four times a year to see him, spend- 
ing several da^'S each time. He never said good-by 
without mentioning the period of his next visit, and 
this broke the pang of parting to the affectionate 
heart. They were like two boys in the enjoj-ment 
of these occasions, the man of nearly fifty sitting close 
by the arm-chair of the aged father and going over 
college pranks and jokes and scrapes and war rem- 
iniscences, to the great amusement and delight of my 
father. The brilliant eyes glowed and flashed with 
the fire of youth at the recital of any brave deed, oi 



308 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

moistened at the account of suffering, or almost closed 
with merriment as he heard of some youthful frolic. 
It was a picture not to be forgotten by those who saw 
them thus. 

Edward had spent his two months' summer vaca- 
tion with him, and much did he enjoy this and the hope 
of many more such summer holidays. The society of 
his sons was very delightful to him ; no one could take 
their place. 

Benjamin had promised to send on his wife and his 
little band of four boys the next summer. Thomas 
also had made his plans for coming on for a long visit. 

All these delightful visions were swept away w^hen 
a large part of the house was given up to strangers. 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 29th October, 1883. 

■' My beloved Child, — To say that your long-looked- 
for letter of the 27th, from Augusta, was hailed with joy 
this morning would be putting it too mildly. It was 
simply devoured by many hungry minds. Yes, your 
daughter Emmeline is happy here, and it would be 
strange if she was not, although her aunts and grand- 
papa cannot spread as good a table now as she sees at 
home. But we try to make up deficiencies in the first 
courses by an elaborate dessert, consisting of unbounded 
affection for her and good humor in general. Scant 
fare, you might say, but my sweet grandchild appears 
to be as well satisfied as if she had started on canvas- 
back duck and wound up on ice-cream and what-nots. 
There is a great preference in favor of wealth over 
squalid poverty, but when you come to the intermedi- 
ate grades, there is less choice for real happiness than is 
generally imagined. And yet, with this fact acknowl- 
edged, how prone we all are to reach up, up, up! and 
so would I if, by tipping-toe, I could reach the thing 
that is universally coveted. But good-by to that ; and 
yet I am far from desolate, as I still have the hearts of 
ten loving children." 



qVIET DAYS. 305) 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Baltimore. 18th November, 1883. 98 John Street. 
..." Last week l)r. Latimer stepped in with Mrs. 
Ann Foote Stewart, daughter of G-overnor Foote, and 
wife of the Nevada Senator, from Washington. She 
came expressly to see the Dabneys, accepting his es- 
cort. She had been to Burleigh, and my daughters 
had been in her father's house many a time. I had 
been her father's friend in Confederate times, when 
friends to him were not as thick as blackberries in 
August. She knew it, and had remembered it to us. 
Mrs. Stewart will do to tie to, as would her father, who 
was as true as steel to a friend. He was much misun- 
derstood. She has the colloquial powers of her father, 
is never at a loss, and never talks nonsense. . . . We 
are getting along with our lodgers unexceptionably. We 
have to see them occasionally, but never obtrusively." 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

..." I was in the civil war, too, but unfortunately 
have no wounds to show or brag on, although a man was 
shot uncomfortably near my position. My eldest son, 
Yirginius Dabney, when acting as aide to General Gor- 
don, of Georgia, caught a minie-ball on the handle of his 
pistol (it being strapped to his side in a holster) at the 
second battle of Manassas, bending one or two of his ribs, 
that have not yet straightened out, and are yet trouble- 
some. I had two other sons in the army, although I 
despised the war, and those who brought it on, and do 
yet. And here ends the military career of these Dab- 
neys, all of us perfectly satisfied with the record ^5 it 
stands, and witiiout the slightest wish to improve it. 

'' Note. — I thought I was through with military 
matters, but find m3^self mistaken, as my girls on hear- 
ing the foregoing read, remind me of another exploit 
to our credit. We were in Macon, Ga., when we found 
the city suddenly and unexpectedly raided upon by 
General Stoneman. He had planted his batterj^, un- 
observed, on an eminence within rifle-range of the 
city, and opened upon us at a lively rate. No organ- 



510 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

ized force was there, but a good many large hospitals, 
and necessarily more or less convalescents, and others 
approaching convalescence. These, with the citizens, 
were in the streets in a few minutes, fully armed, and 
on their way to the battery, the location of which was 
revealed by the smoke and the whistling of the shells, 
that came tearing by us. My j^oungest son (twelve 
years old) and I ran to the arsenal for ammunition, 
and having obtained a supplj-, joined the throng that 
headed for the enemy, but as yet without seeing him. 
My son and I were ordered to defend the bridge to the 
hist extremity, or till further orders. We stopped, 
and the others crossed over the bridge, as the enemy 
was on the opposite side; shells and bullets as lively 
as ever, the bullets a good deal more so, as our ar- 
rival gave him additional targets to practise at. Our 
men turned their attention to the infantry supports, 
and soon detached them from the guns. A running 
fight of ten to twelve miles ensued. Stoneman got 
confused and lost, and surrendered to a force not ex- 
ceeding one-third his own, and without regular organi- 
zation. But officers were among them, and their orders 
were promptly obeyed. General Johnston and Gover- 
nor Cobb (Johnston had been ' relieved' by Jefferson 
Davis but a few daj^s previously), with Stoneman be- 
tween them, passed within twenty yards of me, to the 
prison, I suppose, for I never saw him afterwards. The 
artillery soon followed. Neither my son nor myself 
fired a gun on this Waterloo of a day 1 

"1 have something for you in civil life more sad than 
the war. My then eldest son, Charles, after passing 
through William and Mary College and the literary 
course of the University of Virginia, and graduating at 
Harvard in 1853, contracted yellow fever and died within 
two months after leaving Cambridge. Will 3'ou do me 
the kindnes» to look into the records of that institu- 
tion and judge for yourself of the measure of my loss ?" 

His son Thomas, and Augustine's youngest son, 
John, knowing that he was denying himself many 
things in the straitened circumstances of his family, 



qUIET DATS. 311 

made remittances to him at stated intervals, with the 
expressed desire that these sums should be used exclu- 
sively for his own small indulgences. But the greatest 
pleasure that this gave to him was to return to the old 
ways of many years back, and bring home presents to 
his children and to others to whom he thought little 
gifts would be acceptable. 

"You used to like to find nice things in my pockets," 
he said, " and I treat you like little children now." 



GREENE. 

" Baltimore, 15th December, 1883. 

"My dear Little Pet, — . . . I am very glad that the 
poor bracelet that I sent you enables you to save your 
nickels for some other purpose than the purchase of 
one of them. It was a poor thing, but your grandpapa 
could do no better. I hope your mamma may bring 
you here some day, that I may hug and kiss you to 
make amends for the poor bracelet." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 27th December, 1883. 

. . . " Yeatman is from Gloucester, and his wife from 
Princess Anne County, Virginia. We gravitated to 
each other immediately, for I knew Yeatman's father 
and mother before he knew them. They are delightful 
people, both of them. He expects me to dine with him 
every Sunday. For decency's sake I sometimes fail to 
go, but I generally do, and get as fine a dinner as this 
market affords. . . , 

" Mr. James E. Eandall is the editor of the Augusta 
Constitutionalist newspaper, and the author of ' Mary- 
land, my Maryland,' a song that the boys used to sing 
during the war. I fell in with him in the rooms of 
Mr. and Mrs. Yeatman at Barnum's Hotel." . . . 

T. S. D. TO HIS GRANDCHILDREN, SOPHY GREENE ANT> 
THOMAS DABNEY GREENE. 

"Baltimore, 16th January, 1884. 

"My Little Darlings, — Your sweet letters, enclosed 
in one from your dear mother, came to hand two to 



312 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

three days ago, and were read by your aunts and ray- 
self with much pleasure. You must continue to write 
to me on all such occasions, and never allow your 
mother or father to write to grandpa without putting 
in letters yourselves. In this way writing will become 
very easy to you, and I will be kept up with your prog- 
ress in education, in w^hich I take very great interest. 
As I know nothing of French, you cannot practise on 
me in that language, but you will learn to write good 
English, which will be a high accomplishment." 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON-IN-LAW, B. H. GREENE. 

" Baltimore, 5th February, 1884. 

..." In 1832, I think it was, the South Hampton 
insurrection occurred in Yirginia, and stirred the State 
to its centre, although only a dozen to twenty whites 
were murdered, according to my recollection. But the 
attempt was so bold that the people took a serious 
view of it. The Richmond Enquirer took ground for 
the gradual emancipation of the negroes. The Bruces, 
among the largest slaveholders in the State, took tho 
stump on the same side, and the largest slaveholder in 
my county of G-loucester made a speech (which I 
heard) in favor of the measure. The State was drift- 
ing rapidly into it when the Northern abolitionists 
undertook to advise and cheer us on in the good cause. 
Agitation in Yirginia ceased. Those who had openly 
espoused the cause took back their word, the Enquirer 
ceased to advocate it, and the old State relapsed into 
her old views and remained there till her negroes were 
taken from her by violence. Mr. Clay's proposition to 
the same effect in Kentucky shared the same fate, but 
I forget by what agency, but the same, I suppose. 
We will not submit to foreign dictation or advice 
either."* 



* " And there was a time when many Virginians now living began to 
see this ; and had they been let alone not many years would have passed 
before we should have freed ourselves from the weight that oppressed 
us. . . . 

" From that day all rational discussion of the question became impos- 
sible in Virginia, and a consummation for which many of the wisest 
beads were quietly laboring became odious even to hint at under dicta- 



qUIET DAYS. 318 

T. £ D. TO WM. H. DABNEY. 

" Baltimore, 14th April, 1884. 
"Since my last to you I have inquired of some ju- 
dicious friends if they had ever heard of a case of 
rudeness from a negro to his mistress or her children 
during the war, and the invariable answer was in the 
negative, with the emphatic addition, ' nor ever will.' 
Had such instances occurred but a few times the Con- 
federate armies would have been broken up without 
the aid of Grant or Sherman, as the men — a large pro- 
portion gentlemen, you will understand — would have 
broken ranks, without regard to the shouts of their 
officers, who, by the bye, would have generally joined 
in the stampede, intent only on protecting their own 
families. The more the problem is studied the greater 
is the marvel. I have arrived at the conclusion that 
the universal quiescence of the negroes was due to 
their enlightenment, and not to their ignorance. You 
will remember that the San Domingo negroes were 
nearlj' all savages but recently imported, and very few 
to the manner born. These, when turned loose, were 
like howling wolves, intent only on blood. It was the 
common practice among Southern ladies to teach their 
servants to read, and as many of the out negroes as 
chose to attend. That amount of knowledge enabled 
them to separate the clothes when they came in from 
the laundry, and deposit each piece in its proper 
drawer. That might have been motive enough ; but 
many were educated far above that. A negro man, 
living on a very fine plantation but a few miles below 
Yickfeburg, rented the plantation, as it stood, from his 



tion from outsiders ; and on the day when the first abolition society was 
formed the fates registered a decree that slavery should go down, not in 
peace, but by war; not quietly and gradually extinguished, with the 
consent of all concerned, but with convulsive violence, — drowned in the 
blood of a million men and the tears of more than a million women." — 
Don Miff, p. 183. 

Virginius DaWney, the author of the above lines, on reading his 
father's letter, said it was a curious coincidence that they should have 
expressed exactly the same views when they had never exchanged a 
w)rd on the subject. My father passed through the events he recorde/l; 
my brother knew them as a matter of history. 

o 27 



314 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

former master, at the close of the war, and was soon 
known as the best planter in the county, and perhaps 
in the State. His cotton, at the Cincinnati Exposition, 
a few years ago, took all of the prizes ! And large 
ones they were, too! These are curious things to 
think about; and the good behavior of the negroes 
was not due, as you suggest, to their ignorance. . . . 

" The Spanish salaam to which you call my attention, 
although new to me, is very much admired. I hereby 
adopt, and request that you ' put me at the feet of your 
daughters.' " 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 26th April, 1884. 
" I suppose that I will have both Tom and Ida with 
me in the course of a week or ten days ; and I am 
glad to believe so, as I have hungered after Ida a long 
time, and Tom will always be acceptable, of course. 
James Dabney's wife and one of his daughters left the 
city a week ago to return home, after spending two 
weeks in Baltimore. It was a grievous mortification 
to us that we could not offer them a room during their 
sojourn here. The girls found it necessary to rent out 
every inch of room that we did not need for ourselves. 
I know it was unavoidable, but this new role sits very 
awkwardly on me yet, and always will, I suppose. 
Notwithstanding we could not entertain them, for 
want of room, they insisted, having room, on enter- 
taining us, and we have agreed to visit and spend a 
week with them in ' strawberry times,' — some time in 
June. We are making desirable acquaintances every 
now and then, having made two within the past 
month, — Mr. Hairston and his wife, of North Caro- 
lina ; the other, Colonel Mark Alexander, of this city. 
They are all three fine whist-players, Mrs. Hairston 
being equal to her husband, and equally fond of it. 
Before the war Mr. Hairston and his family were the 
largest slave-owners in this country, and perhaps in 
the world, as they owned five thousand negroes. Just 
think of that! Five millions of dollars in negroes I 
These three now belong to my whist club, and meet 



qUIET DAYS. 315 

here twice a week certainly, and as often on off days 
as convenient." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 29th April, 1884. 

..." Sue says the mosquitoes at Key West are the 
most vicious and audacious she ever saw anywhere. 
Be sure, therefore, to have mosquito-bars to talce along, 
so as to be prepared for them the first night and the 
first day, for that matter. 

" I am very glad that mademoiselle is determined to 
stick to you, as it sounds well both ways. You took 
me by surprise when you stated that you are two 
years older than I was when I emigrated to Missis- 
sippi. Time glides by on greased wheels, it seems. I 
have never looked upon you otherwise than as one 
' lill gal,* as Madame Delphine says of her daughter, 
adding that she is one ' hangel.' I think so of you, my 
child." 

The marriage of his son Thomas, and a visit from 
chis son and his wife, a few weeks afterwards, added 
much to our father's happiness this spring. 

T. S. D. TO EMMELINE GREENE. 

" Baltimore, 11th July, 1884. 98 John Street. 

" My dear Granddaughter, — Had your excellent and 
Bweet letter of the 8th been in my possession when I was 
about writing to your dear mother, I would not have 
written to her as I did. I wish you to understand, my 
dear, that when I read a letter from one of my children 
or grandchildren, it is not with a view to discover the 
excellencies of the composition, but the faults, and I 
have been in the habit of pointing out whatever faults 
I ma}'' find, and in that way to promote their education 
in the art of letter-writing. As this can hardly be at- 
tained to a high degree of excellence in any other way, 
1 still adhere to the rule adopted when my children 
were young, and apply it now to my grandchildren. 
The thing is not pleasant to either of us, but must 



316 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

be endured if any good is to come of it, and youi 
mother will tell you, I hope, that what I write is in- 
tended for your good, and not because I like to find 
fault, and especially with my dear grandchildren. 1 
don't know why there is such a difference between this 
last letter of yours and its predecessor ; but there is a 
difference, and with this I let the subject drop, with 
the remark that you must not let anything that I wrote 
to your mother check your disposition to write to your 
loving grandfather, but, on the contrary, you must 
' fire away,' and put down whatever comes uppermost, 
for this is the natural way, is pleasanter to me, the 
most improving to you." 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

" Baltimore, 17th July, 1884. 
"I was very fond of politics from my youth, and 
took great interest in elections, until secession and war 
left my opinion at a discount;, but since then I have 
never offered to vote. I will take a ' new departure' 
next November, and cast my vote with the party that 
may come in with clean hands, as it has had no oppor- 
tunity to befoul them for many years." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

" Baltimore, 19th July, 1884. 

" My darling Child, — Did I mortify my sweet 
granddaughter by my strictures on her letter? I 
think that hardly possible, and yet I have to guess at 
the meaning of your long silence, and I have guessed 
the first thing that occurs to me. I have not guessed 
it, I know, as none of your dear family could be morti- 
fied at anything I could write. Let one of them write, 
then, and if they prefer to think in French, and then 
turn their thoughts into English, let them do so, as I 
would prefer a translation to nothing. Bmmeline's 
last was entirely free from that blemish, and was a 
beautiful letter throughout. 

" I spent fifteen to twenty days with James Dabney's 
family and the friends of my youth and early manhood 



QUIET DAYS. 317 

in Gloucester. Much remains as I left it forty-nine 
years ago ; and, notably, the same open-handed hospi- 
tality that then prevailed, prevails still, as though it 
was inherent in the soil. The present owner of Todds- 
bury (the family nest of the Tabbs, comprising for- 
merly three thousand acres, perhaps) is a gentleman 
from Long Island, and he finds one hundred and 
eighty acres as much as he needs. These he cultivates 
up to their full capacity, and better than ever before. 
The garden is innocent of a single weed or sprig of 
grass, and is made to yield all that one acre can yield 
of the cboicest vegetables and fruits. The strawberry 
season was over when I got there, but I saw the im- 
mense vines, and was told that some of the berries 
measured nine inches in circumference. The rasp- 
berries were in full blast, and twice as large as any I 
ever saw. They bad a full peck for dinner when I 
dined with them, and Mrs. Mott sent Emory about a 
peck for her dinner one day." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

*' Baltimore, 27th July, 1884. 
" My beloved Child, — Forgive me, my darling, for 
intimating that you might be angry with me. That is 
just as impossible as that I can be angry with you. 1 
was at a loss to account for your long silence, and 
made the suggestion because it was convenient and 
close at hand. You had equal cause to complain of 
me, although I was not aware of it." 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

"Baltimore, 15th August, 1884. 
"I have taken very little interest in politics since the 
war, as a military government immediately succeeded 
it, with all the offices in the hands of negroes and 
carpet-baggers, — the profitable ones in possession of 
the latter, such as the sheriffalties, judgeships, clerk- 
ships, etc., and were not responsible to any power (you 
can well imagine how rapidly they feathered their 
nests under such circumstances), while the Legislature, 

27* ■ 



318 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

magistracy, seats in Congress, were freely bestowed 
on negroes. The thing had to run its course, and I 
gave myself no concern about it, and I have only voted 
once since the war. But I had proposed to vote next 
November, as I thought I saw an opportunity to give 
an eifective vote in the right direction ; but if civil> 
service reform means, as 3^ou think it does, the eviction 
of a consul whose family has served without reproach 
throutrh three 2:enerations to make room for a brawlin"; 
newspaper editor, I am not in favor of civil-service re- 
form, and I am now standing with my hands in my 
pockets. The reputation of Cleveland at the South as 
mayor and governor is without a blemish as a fearless 
man of honor; that of Blaine a trick}^ politician, who 
went into politics a pauper, and, without any other 
profession but politics, has within a short time become 
a millionaire. ... I remember when young men of 
talents, with a practice as lawyers worth five thousand 
dollars, could not afford to take a seat in Congress at 
eight dollars per diem. This was in Yirginia. John 
Eandolph could go and give his per diem to his land- 
lady at the end of the session, but Mr. Clay went in 
debt every year, and was relieved once, to my certain 
knowledge, by a check covering his indebtedness anony- 
mously. You know that Mr. Webster had to be prized 
out frequently by his friends. Mr. Monroe died a 
pauper, after serving eight years as President, serving 
as minister to France, and filling other high oflSces. 
But it is useless to follow this theme further. Public 
men can now do what they did not do then, and are 
not condemned. I cannot vote for Blaine ; if I vote at 
all it must be for Cleveland, under the hope that his 
civil-service reform will not be equivalent to Marcj^'s 
' To the victors belong the spoils of victory,' the most 
infamous sentiment that was ever uttered in the Senate 
of the United States. 1 think your idea of a party 
'that is to bind us North, South, East, and West,' if 
you will forgive the word, is rather Utopian ; and 1 
think it should be so, as no one party can remain 
honest but for a short time. It has been always .so. 
Whenever a party has become strong enough to do 



qUIET DAYS. 319 

wrong they have not been slow to perpetrate out- 
rages. It is only necessary in this connection to point 
to Jackson's reign, for it was nothing less. But enough 
of politics. 

" I very much regret that I failed to see Mrs. C. H. 
Dabney when she was in the South. My daughters and 
I would have received her with open arms, and have 
greeted her as one having a supreme right to claim kin 
with us. Her correspondent (being one of my daugh- 
ters) is my eldest, Sarah, wife of Lieutenant J. K. Eg- 
gleston, who commanded one of the hot-shot guns on 
the 'Merrimac' when she burned the 'Congress' frigate, 
as I have already informed you. They live in Carroll- 
ton, Mississippi. My next oldest is Susan B. Smedes, 
widow of Lyell Smedes, of Ealeigh, North Carolina. 
My third is Sophy D. Thurmond, widow of William 
Thurmond, Kentucky. My fourth is Emmeline D. 
Greene, wife of Benj. H. Greene, civil engineer, Mc- 
Comb City, Mississippi. My two unmarried and young- 
est daughters are Ida and Lelia, both living with me, 
as do also their two widowed sisters. This information 
is furnished on your suggestion that you wished to 
know their names, and I give them in full and with 
great pleasure." 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

"Baltimore, 17th September, 1884. 

"The Benjamin Dabney of Gloucester, Virginia, 
whose death occurred in 1806, was my father, and, as 
we are bringing ourselves nearer and nearer together 
as our correspondence progresses, I will at once throw 
off all reserve and say that he was a lawj-er of emi- 
nence, having few peers and no superiors in Virginia. 
Governor Littleton Walter Tazewell, of Norfolk, Vir- 
ginia, himself almost without a peer, and possessing 
intimate relations with my father, gave me that esti- 
mate of his character. My father died prematurely, 
killed by the ignorance of his physicians, as was Gen- 
eral Washington seven years before. There were two 
other Benjamin Dabneys, one of them a half-brother 
of mine, and the other a first cousin, he being a son of 



320 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Major George Dabney, of Dabney's Ferry, King Wil- 
liam Couijty, the birthplace of my father, and the same 
place, as I presume, at which Cornelius and John 
babney originally settled. The ' Thomas S. Dabney 
whose marriage you call my attention to was myself, 
as you ('onjecture. I married Miss Mary A. Tyler, 
daughter of Samuel Tyler, of Williamsburg, Yirgin a, 
chancellor of the State (there was but one chancellor 
in Virginia at that time, and the position necessarily 
implied eminence as a lawyer and a reputation for in- 
tegrity as a man, and both of these conditions were 
squarely met in him). The marriage took place in 
1820, as represented in the Boston paper. Two sons 
were the issue of this marriage, but both died young, 
the mother in childbed with the second. My second 
wife was Miss Sophia Hill, daughter of Charles Hill, 
Esq., of King and Queen County, a lawyer of high re- 
spectability, but more remarkable as a member of a 
family remarkable then and yet for the inflexibility of 
their virtue. This union gave me sixteen children, of 
whom six daughters and four sons remain alive and 
grown. You already have an account of them. . . . 

. . . "And yet the negroes are looked upon with 
more kindness (when in their places) here than at the 
North. My daughters still call the woman who nursed 
them in their infancy and waited upon them in their 
girlhood mammy ; and these mammies are always privi- 
leged characters in the presence of their old masters, 
on whom they will call for anything without fear of a 
refusal." 

T. S. D. TO WM. H. DABNEY. 

"Baltimore, October 14, 1884. 
. . . "About half a century ago I paid twenty cents 
postage on a single sheet of paper ; now two cents will 
pay for a letter, and the postman (letter-carrier) calls 
at m}^ door four times a day ! Is the human race ren- 
dered happier by these improvements ? Yerily I doubt 
it. In my father's time, or in that of my grandfather, 
one ship a year would ascend the Pamunkey to the to- 
bacco- warehouse, with the latest fashions from London, 
having on board magnificent dresses, gloves, shoes, etc^ 



qUIET DAYS. 321 

etc, for the 'quality' for fifty to one hundred milee 
around, and the whole province was made happy." 

T. S. D. TO MARSHALL MILLER, ESQ. 

"Baltimore, 13th December, 1884. 

" Has it not occurred to you that you will soon have 
an opportunity to do something that you could not 
have done during the last twenty years, no matter 
how anxious you might have been to do it, — I mean, 
of course, to see a Democrat inaugurated as President ? 
It will be an event, and a big one. It makes me shiver 
when I look back to see on what a narrow margin it 
was won. A leading New York Republican said, when 
the thing was decided, that that old fool, 'Rum, Ro- 
manism, and Rebellion Parson,' elected Cleveland. 
Just think of it! It required a fool to do what sa- 
gacious men could not have accomplished ! Perhaps 
that thing has been done before without being ob- 
served. Unless you mean to come to Congress pretty 
soon, I hope you will elect to attend the inauguration, 
or it will be likely that we will never meet again in 
this world, as I will be eightj^-seven on the 4th of next 
month. But I can play whist and backgammon yet ; 
although I am aware of having fallen off at whist, 
but not at backgammon. ... I can get no spectacles 
that will enable me to read by artificial light, although 
I write by it without glasses, as I am now doing at 
8.30 P.M. 

"As Sue and Ida are both at the South at present, I 
have onl}^ Sophy and Lelia to sit at the table and cheer 
me at other times. We have made as many desirable 
acquaintances as we can exchange visits with ; but every- 
body here, except myself, has something to do during 
the day. I have no resource except newspapers, maga- 
zines, and books, so that if I am not up with current 
events, and some old ones, I must make bad selections.'' 

T. S. D. TO HIS GRANDDAUGHTER, SOPHY GREENE. 

"Baltimore, 21st December, 1884. 

"Grandpa's Darling, — And so you want me to 
write a long letter to you! I will have to write to 



322 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Dabney in a few days, and I suppose he will want a 
long letter, too; and how am I to write two long let 
ters to the same house within two to three days of 
each other, and make them interesting? But I only 
have this one on hand at present, and it will be best to 
dispose of this before we begin to talk about the other. 
You would like to have me down there, to show me 
how nicely you can fix my collar and pull on my socks, 
and do all the other things that I would like to have 
done to dress me up comfortably. I know you would 
do it, and do some parts of it well ; but you could not 
make me walk after I was dressed without assistance 
on rough places, or slippery ones, or other bad places 
in the road or woods, for if you attempted such a thing 
we would both come to grief together. I am too help- 
less, my dear little pet, to wander far from home now, 
and must hope that your mamma may find it conveni- 
ent to bring you to Baltimore some time or other 
before I have finally to leave you all. 

"I am very glad that your dear mamma allows you 
to write to me without dictation, as I enjoy your style, 
knowing it to be yours. 

" Your grandpa will be eighty-seven years old if he 
lives until the 4th day of January next, — a greater 
age than any of his name ever attained, according to 
his knowledge." 



CHAPTEE XXIY. 

REST. 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON THOMAS. 

"Baltimore, Sth January, 1885. 98 John Street. 

" My beloved Son, — I find myself overwhelmed by 
emotions that I am powerless to describe. To-day's 
mail brought me letters from you and your wife, and 
from Sue. They are of the same tenor, pretty much, 
and equally hard to take hold of I tried just now to 



REST. 323 

make a start, but had to give it up after spoiling two 
sheets of paper. I have known men to live too long, 
and have hoped to be spared that humiliation ; for a 
man may be said to have lived too long when he ceases 
to be useful and simply becomes a charge on his friends, 
or when he has outlived his reputation, instances of 
which I have known, this last being the most deplora- 
ble of all. But this last I never feared could befall me. 
Money might slip away, health might decay, but I 
never could forget that I was born a gentleman, and 
incapable, consequently, of a mean action. But it is 
one thing to maintain one's self-respect, and another to 
take up a too extravagant notion of one's true standing 
with his fellow-men. It is not the easiest thing in the 
world to see the difference under ordinary circum- 
stances, but next to impossible when the vanity is ex- 
cited or the judgment muddled by a deluge of assur- 
ances from so many partial hearts (not heads) that he 
is a marvellous proper man ! Such is my present con- 
dition, and I have been trying my best to work my 
way out of it for about five days, and without success 
so far. I have thrown two parts of letters in the fire 
through disgust, and I can hardly keep this one out of 
it. But I conclude to let it go, as I see no chance of 
doing better. You must take the will for the deed, 
then, my dear son, as I am absolutely powerless to 
thank you as my heart dictates I should for this great 
testimony of a son's affection and confidence. I will 
write to your dear wife after a while. In the mean 
time she may be assured that I will look forward to her 
second appearance in this city with more hope than 
expectation, I must say. Eighteen months, when piled 
on eighty-seven years, amount to something, but for 
your sake and hers I will expect to see it. Kiss your 
sweet wife eighty-seven times for me ! Good-by." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY. 

"Baltimore, 10th January, 1885. 

" My darling Child, — Your budget reached me on 
time. ' Budget' it was, as there are five letters in the 
one cover, and all charming letters, too ; Ann's equally 



32-4 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

prized with the rest, as hers, too, was purely an offer- 
ing of love. Ann, good girl, regrets that she was not 
here on ray birthday to wash my feet ! I call that 
pure affection, as nothing but affection could have 
prompted the thought. Tell her that I will write to 
her soon, — it may be in a week or two, as I have a 
hatful of such letters to attend to. I think that I re- 
ceived more birthday letters on this last occasion than 
on all the others combined. I am truly grateful for 
such evidences of confidence and affection from my 
dear ones. Those from you and your darling pets are 
particularly grateful to me, as they always are. Dear 
little Sophy is sorry that she has no handsome present 
for grandpapa, but believes he will be satisfied with an 
evidence of affection. To be sure he is. 

" I want only thirteen more years to complete my 
century. If I live thirteen years more (having been 
born on the 4th of January, 1798) I will have seen one 
whole century and parts of two others. Will I see it? 
Hardly. But many people have exceeded that. How 
many were glad, and how many sorry, we do not 
know, but the regrets pi^edominated largely, I am sure. 

" You were not well when you wrote, my darling 
child, but made no complaint. I wish 1 could get a 
cheerful letter from you, and will do it when your 
noble husband straightens out his business affairs; but 
I cannot hope for it sooner. But this must come 
sooner or later, and that thought cheers me up. Let 
it cheer you up also. ... I have no measure for my 
admiration of Tom's wife, and I may say the same of 
Tom. Have I not reason to be proud of my children? 
Examine them as I may, I can find no trace of mean- 
ness in any one. Not a shade of it. And I have ten. 
The same may be said of my brother's nine." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER IDA. 

"Baltimore, 10th January, 1885. 

" My darling Child, — I have your birthday letter. 
Also one from Tom, another from his wife, and still an- 
other from Sue. They overpower me. I have not yet 
been able to make a suitable reply to any of them. I 



REST. 325 

have made three attempts on Tom's, and yet have to 
write to him. I say I am overpowered. It is by the 
stream of love and confidence which rushes through 
these letters that unnerves me. I can hardly see that 
I can deserve so much affection for doing so little, but 
my dear children make allowances for my shortcom- 
ings. I have omitted to mention Emmy, the dear 
child who never forgets her old father any more than 
you do. She not only wrote, but her three children 
also stuffed in their beautiful offerings to their grandpa. 
I cannot express myself properly now, nor will I ever 
be able to do it, as I do not believe the man is alive 
who has such children as I have. May God bless you, 
and all of you, my dear, dear children ! 

" The enclosed letters will answer many of your in- 
quiries, which I send as the best and most convenient 
method. But I forgot to mention a letter from Heath, 
from Berlin, which came in on the very fourth I Vir- 
ginius's wife, too, did not forget me. Neither did Ben 
forget me. He says the cold has been extreme in 
Bonham, Texas. Every stream frozen solid, so that, 
although food for ducks abounds in their water-courses, 
the ducks fly over and seek water elsewhere. Our 
markets abound in ducks and other game, but they 
(the ducks) are too high for our purses, and we let 
them fly on I" 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER SUSAN. 

"Baltimore, 11th January, 1885. 

"Mr BELOVED Child, — I have received more birth- 
day letters on this last occasion than on all former re- 
currences of my natal day combined. It appears as 
if every one with whom I have any correspondence 
has been wide awake to the fact that I was born on the 
4th of January. 

" I find myself overwhelmed by the good wishes and 
loving wishes of so many of my dear children and 
others, and find myself impotent to make suitable re- 
plies, and especially to Tom and his wife. You must 
all, my dear, take it for granted that your love for me 
cannot exceed mine for you, and there the matter 

28 



326 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

must rest. ... It is difficult to imagine any better 
people than the James Dabneys, or as good, for that 
matter. Cousin Em never forgets when giving-time 
comes, and she accordingly sent us, at Christmas, fully 
ten pounds of sausage-meat, and a turkey that ap- 
peared on our table six times, in spite of its being un- 
commonly excellent and tender. She availed herself 
of Evelyn's coming to send up five to six or more gal- 
lons of selected oysters, pickled. I have been working 
on them faithfully from the day of their arrival, and 
have given my whist club (eleven to twelve persons 
participated) as many as they could dispose of, and a 
good many still remain, enough, perhaps, to give my 
whisters another show at them." 

T. S. D. TO MRS. THOMAS S. DABNEY. 

" I look forward to your return to Baltimore with 
more pleasure than I can express, although it may ap- 
pear absurd for a man to look forward to anything to 
come off eighteen months hence after he has attained 
his eighty-seven years. But it costs nothing to hope 
it, and I therefore indulge in the cheap extravagance." 

T. S. D. TO MARTHA C. DABNEY. 

"Baltimore, 13th January, 1885. 

"My beloved JS'iece, — ^Your delightful and cheery 
letter of the 5th came in this morning, it having 
missed a coincidence but one day, as the 4th was my 
natal day, — a thing that you had luckily forgotten, but 
had been remembered by a sufficient number to keep 
me writing ' acknowledgments' for a week yet to come. 
I am very grateful for these evidences of affection 
from my children and grandchildren, and nieces and 
nephews, and outside friends ; but, to tell the truth, 
to be congratulated on being eighty-seven years old is 
rather 'jubus.' However, as you say I am improving 
on it, I have no right to complain, whether I believe 
you or not. 

... "I hope you may elect to see the Exposition, as 
in that event you will have placed the Eockies behind 



REST, 327 

you, and will have little bother about coming to Balti- 
more. Do come, my dear, as it will be the last chance 
of seeing your old but ' improving' uncle." 

On the margin of this letter I find these words : 
"As this is the last letter I got from ray dearest 
uncle, I could not bear to send it, and so I copied it 
for you. Your loving cousin, 

" Martha." 

T. s. D. TO ANN CRAVEN (colorcd nursc in his daughter 
Emmy's family). 

"Baltimore, 14th January, 1885. 98 John Street. 

" Dear Ann, — Your birthday-letter has been on hand 
several days, and I now desire to return my sincere 
thanks for it, and the more because it was unexpected. 
Why it was unexpected I can't say, as there was noth- 
ing unnatural in your wishing to remind as true a 
friend as I am to you that you thought of me on my 
birthday. Inclosed with yours were the three letters 
from my grandchildren, all of whom you nursed from 
infancy with a care only short of maternal; and their 
affection for you strictly corresponds to that relation. 

"When I reached that part of your letter in which 
you expressed regret at not being in Baltimore on my 
birthday to wash my feet, I could not suppress a smile, 
but it was a smile of real pleasure. 

"May God bless you, Ann, with many years of good 
health — an equivalent of happiness, as happiness, after 
good health, depends exclusively on integrity — is the 
prayer of Your true friend, 

"Thos. S. Dabney." 



The handwriting was as clear as ever, but it was a 
difl3cult one to read, and this letter was read to Ann. 
" If I could get a letter like this once a week, I would 
be a happier and better woman," she said after hear- 
ing it. 

George Page's wife wished to send a live, white pig 
to Baltimore to her master, and was much disappointed 



328 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

on hearing that it was not thought feasible. One day 
George Page said to Ida, — 

" Charlotte say she gwyne to kill an' roas' a tuckey 
an' sen' him to ole raarster. I tell her she fool ; Miss 
Ida ain't gwyne to carry a tuckey to Baltimo'." 

" Yes, George, I will. It will please him to see how 
she loves him." 

"Den she ain't sich a fool as I thought. I gwjmo 
tell her to kill an' roas' her tuckey." 

A number of the servants sent little baskets of eggs 
to him. 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON BENJAMIN. 

"Baltimore, 19th January, 1885. 
"I am truly sorry that I made the mistake of ad- 
dressing my letter that was intended for Charley to 
Ben. Give my love to the dear little fellow, and tell 
him it was a mistake; that he must not mind, but must 
write to me again, and I will be sure to send the next 
to him. As I can never again get to Bonham, you 
must contrive, by hook or by crook, to visit me occa- 
sionally during the remainder of my days. I made it 
my pious duty to visit my mother every other year 
during the latter part of her life, taking with me one 
of her grandchildren on each occasion. I don't men- 
tion this for your emulation, as you cannot afford it as 
well as I could at that time, but you can do the same 
to some extent." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER IDA. 

" Baltimore, 28th January, 1885. 

..." The girls, Sophy and Lelia and Eveljm Dabncy, 
and Maria Tabb, daughter of John Henry Tabb, of 
Gloucester, are off for the theatre to-night, leaving me 
'verge and scope' enough to do as I please, and, as I 
cannot think of anything better, I will dedicate the 
time to my darling daughter, who has the responsi- 
bility of all the affairs of the family on her shoulders, 
and bravely does she stand under them. May God 
bless you, ray dear child ! 

..." Say how-d'ye to George, Susan, Abby, Louisa, 



REST. 329 

and any other of my old servants who appear to take 
an interest in their old master." 

T. S. D. TO HIS SON THOMAS. 

" Baltimore, 12th February, 1885. 
... "1 have just received a card from Yirginius, 
advising that he will dme with us on Sunday next, 
and celebrate his semi-centennial with me and his two 
sisters, who are here. I wish I had some of that fine 
wine that the army followers of Grant imbibed in the 
front portico of Burleigh during the war, but, alas and 
alack! I have it not." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER SUSAN. 
, "Baltimore, 15th February, 1885. 

"My beloved Child, — Yirginius dropped in upon 
us last night, to give us the benefit of his august pres- 
ence at dinner to-day, this being, as you know, the an- 
niversary of the day on which his first yell saluted the 
ears of his mother and mine fifty years ago. Many 
things have happened to him and to us since then. 
Brothers and sisters have joined him, and some have 
departed. War, prosperity, adversity, have in their 
turn crossed the stao-e of life, leavino; each its mark, 
good, bad, or indifi'erent. The bad and indifferent per- 
haps predominate, but still we have cause to thank 
God for much that remains of the good, among which 
blessings we rank high on the list the preservation of 
your life when we thought it was lost ; and I think it 
quite natural that my children should thank God for 
the preservation of mj^ life for such mysterious purj^ose 
as we know not, but will hope not for evil." 

T. S. D. TO WILLIAM H. DABNEY. 

" Baltimore, 17th February, 1885. 
" Tour late letter (not so late either) has remained 
unnoticed unreasonably long, as you may think, but 
the sad event recorded in it was too sad to be either 
commented on or passed over at the moment. To 
have a much cherished member of one's family re- 
moved forever by death is a calamity to which humanity 

28* 



330 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

has fallen heir, and must be met by all; but few, if any, 
are capable of holding; themselves prepared to see them 
snatched away suddenly when in the full vigor of 
health, and yet that is one of the conditions under 
which we ourselves hold to the precarious tenure of 
life most mysteriously, as a mere 'bodkin' would be 
sufficient to make us 'shuffle off this mortal coil' in a 
moment. It is a blessed thing to the departed, but 
none the less grievous to those who remain." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, MRS. THOMAS DABNEY. 

"Baltimore, 22d February, 1885. 

" My beloved Daughter, — As Tom tells me in his 
last that a letter of mine did you so much good, I will 
address this also to you, as not fearing Tom's jealousy, 
and as hel])ing him in a professional way in the treat- 
ment of your ailments. The nostrums of the veriest 
quacks have been known to work miracles in effecting 
cures when the remedies known to the regular faculty 
have utterly failed. But the regular faculty never 
affected infallibility, although pretenders in medicine, 
as well as in divinit}^, do. They both succeed in de- 
luding the credulous, although people die with infalli- 
ble nostrums in their mouth, and souls go to the wrong 
place bespattered with holy water! 

" And now, at what have I arrived ? 1 believe I 
started with a proposition of Tom's that my letters 
did you good. I am glad, indeed, that your ailments, 
lumbago or what-not, can be assuaged in any degree by 
such simple remedies as my nonsense. If it is so, I 
hope this dose, this dash at the Pope and impostors in 
general, may prove a specific, thorough and complete, 
and bring you out bright and joyous, — as good as newl" 

T. S. D. to his daughter IDA 

" Baltimore, 24th February, 1885. 

" My beloved Child, — Being square up with my 
correspondence, I am at liberty, for the nonce, to choose 
my auditor, and, as I love your prattle hugely, I elect 
you for my first victim on a new start, uude the hope 



REST. 331 

ofprovoking some of the said prattle. . . . Mr. fell 

on the ice the other daj- and broke an arm. I boasted 
immunity from falling, thinking I was too cautious for 
such a mishap to befall me, and I lost my heels within 
a few hours after making the boast ; but I saved my 
arms, and was not hurt, as I took care to squat right 
down when I found I had to go. A good many casual- 
ties are reported, as the bad and slippery weather has 
been long continued. It is ten o'clock, so good-by." 

T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, MRS. THOMAS DABNEF. 

"Baltimore, 27th February, 1885. 98 John Street. 

"My beloved Daughter, — My last bulletin from 
Magazine Street was from Sue, but that has been too 
long ago, and although it was cheering enough for the 
time, and as no news is supposed in my family to be 
good news, I still cannot suppress the fear that the rule 
may not hold good in this instance. I therefore re- 
quest that Sue or Tom or your cousin or yourself will 
break the uncomfortable silence and let me know how 
matters stand. I request, in addition, that no mail be 
allowed to leave ]N"ew Orleans, after receipt of this, 
without a message to me from one of you. You see, 
my dear, that I am getting old (getting ?), and don't 
feel that I can spare either of you, as time might not 
be left me to repair damages. 

" Baltimore is undergoing the most rigorous winter 
of many years. A month ago grave apprehensions 
were entertained of an ice-famine next summer, but 
now every ice-house is filled, I suppose, with ice from 
twelve to eighteen inches thick, and the rivers stacked 
with ice too formidable for the tugs. The Chesapeake 
is dangerous for navigation on account of floating ice, 
too heavy to be encountered at night, and hence travel 
by the bay has been seriously interrupted. Boats are 
tied up in all directions. This has only been the case 
for a day or two, however, but there is no telling how 
long it may last, as snow resumed falling at 6 p.m. this 
evening, after a suspension of thirtj^-six hours, the 
snow falling piling on one of nine inches, that fell 
three days ago. So you see we are having a lively 



332 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

time for catching rabbits, sparrows, snowbirds, and the 
like, to our hearts' content ! When a boy, I Hked that 
hugely, but I must confess now that the frost of years, 
as it fell on my pate, has had the effect of moderating 
my delight at witnessing the frost of heaven. 

" I hope you have seen the orations of Winthrop and 
Daniels, as delivered on the occasion of the dedication 
of the Washington Monument at Washington. They 
are grand specimens of oratory, as the monument is 
of architecture, and when combined should and will, 1 
hope, go far towards cementing the hearts of our great 
nation into one loving, irresistible whole, the prating of 
States-rights people (so called), who have not yet found 
out that the war is over, to the contrary notwithstand- 
ing. Calhoun knew no country but Carolina (he only 
knew one), and I have lately (and only lately) found 
that persons actually exist who only know Virginia, for 
I heard a lady say, after reading those noble orations 
in honor of Washington, and in which his counsels are 
commended to his country, that had he not been a 
Yirginian she would have cared nothing for him 1 

" Why do not the moon and stars fall upon and 
crush us, I would like to know? 

" Having taken breath, I only have to say, with my 
love to your husband, good-by. 

" Thomas S. Dabney." 

After writing this letter my father posted it himself. 
It was a cold afternoon, and everything covered with 
snow. He had paid several calls during the last few 
days, and was as bright as usual. On this evening his 
friends came for the semi-weekly game of whist, and 
he played as well as ever, and enjoyed everything, and 
went up-stairs to bed in good spirits. As he seldom 
came down to breakfast before eleven o'clock, and some- 
times during this winter as late as twelve or one, no 
one went to call him until twelve on this day. Only 
Sophy and Leha were at home this winter. Sophy 
had gone off to a sewing-school, in which she was a 
teacher, at ten o'clock. 

As he did not come down at twelve, Lelia, who had 



REST, 333 

twice during the morning called to know if he was 
awake, ran up to his room. He appeared to be calmly 
Bleeping, with the dear head resting on the clasped 
hands, just as he always composed himself for the last 
f'efreshing sleep in the morning, that he enjoyed so 
much. When she found that she could not rouse him, 
she thought that he had swooned. There was nothing 
that looked like death in that calm, sleeping figure. 
The servants helped her to rub him till a physician 
could be called. He said that the spirit had passed 
away two hours before. Death had been instantane- 
ous and painless, and had come in his sleep. His 
prayer had been answered ; he had not lived to be 
helpless, and he had passed away suddenly. 

Often in life, when another would have put off a 
call, he would say, " I will do it at once." It seemed 
now as if he had answered to those last summons to 
come, " I will come at once." 

Lelia's letters to the absent son and daughters give 
the last details of the putting away of the honored and 
precious father. 

His children took him to Gloucester, to old "Ware 
Church that his mother and he had loved. Here they 
laid him under a walnut-tree, within the shadow of the 
venerable church. On a slab of plain granite, placed 
there by his four sons and Frederick Dabney, are cut 
his name and the date of his birth and death. He had 
said to us that the slabs over his ancestors in the old 
church-yard on Jamestown Island were the most suit- 
able and enduring that he knew, and he had chosen 
them as his pattern in the slabs over his dead, and we 
put the same over him. 

As one stands at the head of the green mound one 
may see beyond the fields and meadows the blue waters 
that he loved so well. 

LELIA TO THE SISTERS AND THOMAS IN NEW ORLEANS. 

" Baltimork, 4th March, 1885. 98 John Street. 

"My DEAR Sister Sue and the rest op my dear 
Sisters and dear Tom, — We have just returned from 
carrying our beloved father to Gloucester. I cannot 



334 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

help hoping his spirit saw the waters of the Chesa- 
peake. If he had been alive he would have loved to 
stand where he was on the boat. But I must tell you 
how it was. 

"At three o'clock on Monday Mr. Dame read all that 

part of the service usually read in the house. and 

would not allow a notice to be put in the papers, as 

they said the house was too small. They sent notices 
or told all our special friends. There were a great 
many here, but I do not know who they were. I asked 

to give me the list of pall-bearers. They were Mr. 

Thomas B. Mackall, Mr. Hopkins, Mr. Newton G-ray, 
Mr. Thomas Levering, Dr. E. E. Walker, Dr. Pow- 
hatan Clarke, Dr. Marriott, and Mr. William Eeynolds. 

" Mr. Yeatman, sister Sophy, and I were all who 
went to the boat with him. Ned had to leave during 
the service and hurry to a different boat by which he 
could make better time. Jenkins and his men did 
everything on the boat. Evelyn could not go with us, 
but she and Willie met us at Canton that night at 
eight. We went to the boat immediately after the 
service. We had the service at three o'clock on brother 
Yirginius's account, so that he could go back to New 
York. 

" Mr. Yeatman did everything for us, and I do not 
know how we would have done without him. The 
boat did not leave Baltimore until after eleven o'clock, 
so he knew we would miss the other boat, but he tele- 
graphed, and the captain promised to wait. He did 
wait a long time, and then had to start, and came to 
meet us, I suppose, as we met in the bay. This was a 
dangerous thing to do. Mr. Yeatman spoke to every- 
body, and everj^thing was done so respectfully and 
reverently, you knew that we had to be transferred to 
the other boat. 

"We took this line because it landed us within three 
miles of the church. When we got to the landing 
Cousin James and Todd were there waiting for us 
with everything ready. Ned and Lee had attended to 
the arrangements in the church-yard. Jimmy had let 
everybody know. The court was in session. We went 



REST. 335 

directly from the boat to the church, where we did not 
have to wait long. 

"A great many people came and shook hands with 
us and sympathized with us, and talked so beautifu^Jy 
about him. Our cousins were all they could be. The 
pall-bearers were Judge Warner Jones, Thomas Talia- 
ferro, G-eneral William Taliaferro, Colonel Eobbins, Mr. 
Hairston Sewell, and Major Thompson. More asked 
to be allowed to be pall-bearers than we wanted. The 
interment took place on March 3 at 4.30 p.m. 

" Every one seemed so much gratified at his love for 
the place and our taking him there on that account. I 
think Cousin James's family went as papa's family. I 
know he did, and Evelyn and Jimmy Duncan. I did 
not see the others. Evelyn would hold on to me. 
Cousin James walked with sister Sophy. Lee's voice 
was so sweet in 'Abide with Me.' 

" They begged us to sta}^, but we heard there was a 
chance of reaching the boat. Todd said he would tr}^, 
so we left the church-yard as soon as the services were 
over, and Todd took us rapidly with his blooded horses, 
and we were just in time. Cousin Em was not at 
church. She had no idea we could go home that day, 
and looked for us at the Exchange. 

"When Cousin Parke was here he talked to her as il 
she were her mother in age, and, as she knew so man}? 
of the old stories, with a woman's tact she made him 
thoroughly enjoy the reminiscences he would run over. 
Among them he talked a great deal of his mother and 
her love for Bishop Moore and Ware Church. 

" He also told us what I had never heard before, 
about his beginning a Sunday-school in the Highlands 
in Gloucester. So like him. He bought a stove and 
all the books, and made all the preparations that in- 
volved money at his own expense and that of a young 
man who went in with him. But unfortunately they 
could not get hold of the children. They did all they 
could to get them, but failed." 



336 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

LELIA TO HER SISTER SUSAN, 

" TowsON, Md., March 13, 1885. 

" I want to write to you about our dear father. 1 
try 80 hard to bear it right. I want to tell you bright, 

pleasant things. We have thought, and Mrs. agrees 

with us, that papa slept splendidly this past winter. He 
not only slept in the morning, but in the night. 

" That last night he did not make one sound. E , 

who was sitting up-stairs, in the front room, answered 
my question, 'Have you heard papa stirring?' 'I have 
not heard one sound from his room.' I ran up-stairs 
on that, not much frightened, for three times within 
ten days had I run up to find him sound asleep, and 
so surprised to hear me tell him how late it was. Once 
I told him how much frightened I was, and asked him 
if it was necessary for him to stay in bed until one 
o'clock, saying, ' Papa, you frighten me so much.' He 
was greatly amused. It pleased him very much seeing 
me uneasy about him. But I noticed when I waked 
him even at half-past eleven he was very drowsy, and 
I determined not to wake him so early. I thought it 
only my own nervousness about gas, and would worry 
myself to death about that, knowing he could not 
smell it. 

" There was some one around his room all the time, 
and if he had made any sound it would have been 
heard. But I do not believe that he moved hand or 
foot after he went to sleep. There was every evidence 
of this, — the cover tightly tucked around his neck, and 
smooth all over the bed. 

" This is not the letter I meant to write. I tore it, 
thinking that I would throw it away. But I will send 
it, and try again to write what I wish to say. ... Is 
not that a sweet thought in Cousin Fred, and so far 
above his means?" 

LELIA TO HER SISTER SUSAN. 

" Baltimore, March 26, 1885. 98 John Street. 

..." You could not have felt a farther-off feeling 
more stroDgly than we did. It was not as if we had 



REST. 337 

looked for it. But in one sense I had looked for it. 
That was the third time in that week that he had 
alarmed me. I had run up to his room to find him 
asleep, and he was so much amused by my waking 
him. Once, not long before Evelyn left us for the 

C s, I went to the C s with Evelyn. On my 

return, 1 said, ' Has not papa come down yet ?' Sister 
Sophy said, 'No; and it makes me uneasy.' I ran up 
to his room, and he did not wake until I called once or 
twice. It was one o'clock. I said to him, ' Do you 
need to stay in bed this long, for it frightens me nearly 
to death.' He was so much amused, and said, 'So you 
keep an eye on me, do you ? I like that.' 

" I try to think of all the pleasant things. I bring 
back a great many to my mind. I try not to reproach 
myself, nor do I do it now as I did. A letter of Ned's 
gave me so much comfort on that subject." 

LELIA TO HER SISTER IDA. 

"Baltimore, 98 John Street, March 8, 1885. 

..." He had such a sunny disposition ; he was so 
happy over so little, and never stopped to repine over 
what he might have had. He was as grand in his 
poverty as a king could be in all his glory. All these 
friends of his here who knew nothing of him until a 
year or two ago, look on him just as those do who 
knew him in his younger and more prosperous days. 
They love his great heart, his truth, his nobility. How 
fresh were the wells of love in his ever-youthful heart! 
He made friends here as if he were a boy. Even the 
little boys on the street knew and loved him, and would 
run to meet him, and he would stir them up with his 
stick, or pretend to try to disperse them in fun. ... I 

did not know that Mr. appreciated him, but he 

broke completely down when he spoke of him. Mis. 
Mackall was so sweet, going close to him, leaning down 
to his face, as if she were trying to find life where there 
was none. She would say, ' I love that good man. 1 
love that good man.' . . . Mrs. Yeatman sent lovely 
roses, which we put on his breast at the very first. Mr. 
Levering sent a large box of cut flowers, not just white 
V w 29 



338 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

flowers, but all-colored roses and other sweet-sceiited 
flowers. I laid them on him. Mrs. Gray brought 
lilies, and they, too, were not made up. He liked 
them so much better that way. If he was sick I do 
not think he knew it himself. He did say his legs were 
stiff, and that was the only reference that he made to 
his health. He was so busy reading the papers and 
writing letters, he lost not a moment. And then he 
went visiting, and enjoyed his friends who called. 

" Not many days before (my mind is such a blank I 
cannot recall the day) Dr. Walker called and saw no 
one but papa. I asked him if he thought him looking 
well. He said that he thought him unusually well." 



MARTHA DABNEY TO SUSAN. 

"Santa Rosa, California, April 29. 

... "If you could have all the letters that he wrote 
to my dearest father you would have quite a complete 
history of his life. Two or three letters every week 
would pass between them on many subjects, — politics 
very often, on the occasion of sending a quarter of 
lamb or a fine piece of beef. These were always occa- 
sions for long notes. Of late years I have tried to 
keep all their letters, but mother has such a passion 
for sending them away that I have lost some very 
valuable ones. I begged for the last one of my uncle, 
telling her it might be the last I should ever see from 
his hand, so I kept it. You will see from reading it 
what a happy mood was on him. I am sorry not to 
send you the original, because it won't look so natural 
to you to have it in another handwriting ; but I value 
it too much to trust it to the mail. I wish you would 
be so good as to send them all back when you have got 
what you want from them. 

" A school-teacher's lot has little leisure in it, else I 
would try to write in appropriate terms a tribute to 
one whom I admired as much as I loved. One who 
possessed that most excellent of all characters, the 
rare blending of manly strength with womanly tender- 
ness, a mind of large grasp and delicate discernment^ 



REST. 339 

a symmetrical nature, where the intellectual and the 
moral formed a perfect whole. 

" To those who only knew him casually his sagacity 
in practical affairs must have been very striking. 
While his neighbors were sending half their cotton 
North to buy corn, his granaries were overflowing 
He had a saying, 'Cattle don't fatten on bought corn.' 
Don't you remember? It's strange what interest I 
took as a child in everything he said, and admired his 
management. 'Plough deep in dry weather' is another 
of his sayings that I remember. I wondered that all the 
planters around didn't come to him for instructions. 

"His mind was so comprehensive as to embrace 
everything. He was as much at home in the purely 
intellectual as the purely practical. 

"How I do regret my sweet old uncle 1 May God 
bless all his children and grandchildren !" 

Of the letters that came to his children a few ex- 
tracts are here given : 

Jennie Eggleston Zimmerman wrote: "I, too, mourn 
that beautiful life gone from us as a daughter. When 
I was famishing for home and home-love his father- 
heart reached out and took me in as heartily and ten- 
derly as if I had been one of his own. I can never 
forget it. It is one of the sweetest, most cherished 
memories of mj- life, and I feel poorer because he has 
gone out of this life. It seems to me that the most 
prominent feature of his character was his fatherliness. 
Even to his grown-up children he seemed to fill the 
place of both father and mother. 

"The manner of his death was especially beautiful. 
A long, good life, full of tenderness and good deeds, 
passing away in healthful slumber without a pang of 
agony. . . . While he discharged all the duties of life 
with fidelity, while he was an ideal gentleman, he was 
pre-eminently a father. Thank God for his life !" 

Mrs. A. G. Brown wrote ; " Many and many a time 
in our lonely home has he cheered us with his bright, 
hopeful conversation. We always felt better for his 
coming." 



340 MEMORIALS OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 

Mrs. Campbell Smith wrote: ''The grand old country 
gentleman, as I knew him, a very lord in his castle, 
hospitable and courteous to all. Distant and reticent 
I've seen him to some few, with good reasons of his own 
for it, but kindly, familiar, and jovial with those he loved 
and claimed as friends. ... I bore him the greatest 
love and admiration. I love to think of him and con- 
template his beautiful life. Such hope and encourage 
ment to those who would follow in his footsteps !" 

His son-in-law, Benjamin H. Greene, wrote, after a 
visit to the home : " Everything about the house looked 
natural to me except the empty chair and corner whicb 
the grand old patriarch occupied upon my former visits 
I longed to see him and to hear him talk in his fasci 
nating manner every minute of my stay in his house 
more than I had ever before experienced. We know 
exactly where to find him, and I pray that when the 
summons comes we may pass away as sweetly and 
serenely as this grand man did." 

His son Edward wrote: "Every letter that I ever 
received from him was good, eminently good, for he 
was a hero in the truest and best sense of the word, 
looking all issues squarely in the face and scorning all 
subterfuge." 

John Dabney wrote : " I wish that the good man's 
hands had been laid in blessing on the heads of my two 
children." 

The last of his old friends, John Shelton, now him- 
self a man of seventy-one years of age, wrote : " I es- 
teemed him as a most noble man, and one of the very 
finest specimens of the old Virginia gentleman that it 
was ever my fortune to know. . . . Leaving behind 
him a name without fear and above reproach." 

A negro woman who had never met him wrote thus 
of him to her daughter on his death : " he War a very 
Welthy Man and he all so died very hapy and he did 
live in the South and all so War good to the Poor and 
did help Both White and Colard for he war good to all 
and he War high 'onard By Both White and Colard." 

We could not let his old servants hear the tidings of 
the death of Thomas Dabney from the public journals. 



REST. 341 

Letters were written to several of them. George Page 
wrote : " He was a good master to us all. You are all 
my children, and 1 love you all alike." He took his 
letter from the family to two negro churches, where it 
was read aloud to "our people." George wrote, and wo 
got man}^ affectionate messages from them. 

Mammy Maria was in New Orleans, having been 
taken there by her daughter, with whom she lived. 
Her mind appeared almost gone; softening of the brain 
had set in several years before. But her affections 
were in no way dulled by the disease that had attacked 
the brain, and she sobbed and wept when any of her 
white children went to see her. We went ourselves to 
tell mammy that her master was gone. She asked, 
quickly, " Was George Page with him ?" and then be- 
came silent, and looked stolid, as if she had not com- 
prehended the import of the words that she had heard. 

But those words had snapped the mainspring of her 
life. She walked about the house for a week, but she 
refused to touch food or drink. When urged by her 
daughter she said, "I got 'nough," and when water 
was put in her mouth she did not swallow it. At times 
frightful paroxysms of grief came, but she rarely spoke 
unless spoken to. At the end of the Aveek she got on 
her bed and lay there with closed ej^es. Her friends 
prayed and sang around her bed, but she gave no sign 
except that big tears rolled through the closed lids. 
From being a stout woman she became emaciated, and 
on the 24th of March, the twenty-fourth day after 
hearing of her master's death, she passed away in great 
agony. 

" It 'peared like her heart busted with grief when 
she heerd of marster's death," her daughter said. 

"Oh, Mammy Harriet," one of Thomas Dabney's 
bereaved children said to her old nurse, " will papa be 
afraid to meet at God's judgment bar the face of any 
eervant whom he ever owned ?" 

" Oh, no, no, my good marster, no I" while tears rained 
down the venerable black face. 



ADDENDUM 



The following incidents are related by Edward : 
" One night, happening to be a short distance from camp, I 
heard the beating of the long roll, and, hurrying back, found 
the men already in line of battle. My duty was to dress the 
files, and on finding ray company I walked down the line, 
speaking to the men and aligning them properly. Through 
the gloom I recognized some by voice and some by form. 
Presently I came to a singularly tall and erect man whom I 
did not 'know, and asked his name. ' It is I, marster,' was 
William's quiet and respectful reply. I ordered him to the 
rear, telling him to keep out of range of the guns unless Ben 
or I were wounded and had to be removed from the field. 

" At the battle of Baker's Creek my duty was, in case of dis- 
aster, to assist in conducting the wagon-trains to a place of 
safety ; on that day, therefore, I was a non-combatant. At 
an early hour, as the troops were filing past me, I noticed a 
boy without a haversack, and gave him mine (with two days' 
cooked rations), knowing that my chances for picking up a 
dinner that day would be better than his. Afterwards, ac- 
companied by William, I rode to the front to see how the day 
was going. Our point of observation was none of the safest, 
and the shriek of a shell or the hiss of a bullet was of frequent 
occurrence. After a while, William entered a log cabin near 
by (from which the occupants had fled, leaving everything), 
and in a short time announced that dinner was served. He 
had prepared a sumptuous meal — ham and eggs and hot corn- 
bread. During this meal he waited on me with the same quiet 
and stately deportment as if we had been in a place of perfect 
safety, and betrayed no anxiety when, owing to a_ sudden 
pressure on our lines, the bullets began to rattle briskly on 
the roof and sides of the cabin." 
342 









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